What We Become
by Robin Mask
Summary: There were some scars that didn't fade. Cable had left his mark upon Wade more than any other person. The memories of the pain were etched into Wade's mind, enough so that he found himself driven to crime once more, and it was up to Spider-Man to help him. There was one obstacle: how could he gain Wade's trust when he couldn't even trust Wade with his face?
1. Chapter 1

**What We Become  
>Chapter One<strong>

There were gunshots.

It wasn't that unusual to hear gunshots in a city like New York, especially when you worked as something of a vigilante and had a sixth sense to danger, but there was just something different about the sounds this time. The usual pattern to gunshots was just that: a pattern. They would appear in rapid succession like the spree of a mass shooter, or they would appear as a one-off warning like those used in robberies, or sometimes they would appear in short bursts of a pre-meditated or systematic killing, but this -?

There would be several shots at once, but then a pause. There would be what sounded like a warning shot, but that would then descend into something almost like a rhythm. It was unpredictable and wild, almost maddening to try and predict, but there was something so familiar there, almost as if the wild gunfire acted as a signature for the madman to which it belonged. Spider-Man looked around from the rooftops to try and find the place that the sounds originated, but the streets appeared in chaos. It was like watching an ants nest burn. He remembered the times when his uncle would pour boiling water on the nest, when the bodies of ants would be scattered without rhyme or reason, and this was just like that.

He looked down to see that there was a small bar at the corner of the block, one where half-a-dozen police cars had blocked off the intersection and were all concentrated on what was going on inside the establishment. It was cold outside today; there was snow already beginning to settle on the tops of the cars, with one policeman forced to blow on his hands to keep them steady, and clearly they were struggling to decide what the best course of action would be. That meant only one thing: hostages.

Spider-Man swung down.

He stopped somewhere high on a streetlight opposite the bar, which he clung to in a rather inelegant way, despite his ability to stick to any surface. It was something of a comfort, because the sound of gunshots was one that he would _never_ get used to hearing. The streetlight was something solid and real, something that grounded him, and he could hold to it and use that moment to concentrate on what he was to do next. The cold metal awoke his sense of reason. The best course of action would be to swing in and take the attacker by surprise, but that only worked if there was _one_ attacker, otherwise he'd be open to –

'_Hey, it's Spider-Man! You think he's here to help?'_

'_Ain't no way he's here to help. You hear what Jameson says?'_

'_My kid would love an autograph.'_

Right, it seemed like that was his cue to leave. The very last thing that he wanted was for his photograph to be in the paper and the tag-line to be that _he _was involved somehow, because – he had to be honest – Jameson would be _more_ than happy to try and make it seem that Spider-Man was somehow the cause of the gunfire or the lookout. He also didn't want anyone else to film it and get the scoop before MJ . . . he kind of owed her.

"Stay back!" Spider-Man called out. "I'll deal with it!"

He aimed his web just above the window, which was thankfully broken by the gunfire and held a large enough hole to dive through, and swung through in one impressive leap. There were a few loose shards that cut into his skin, but the pain was slight and the costume tore only minimally. He landed quite gracefully in the centre of the room, but his spider-sense went off almost at once, and so he dove quickly underneath a nearby table, which – it seemed – probably saved his life. The bullet holes in the floor looked ominous.

There was almost a palpable sense of relief in the air. The hostages all whispered his name like a mantra, with sighs and cries being emitted all around him, and – as he tried to do a brief mental count – he felt the heavy weight of responsibility upon him. He still had yet to know whom he was dealing with, but his presence had likely taken the hostage-taker by surprise and he had no way to know how they would react. If any single person died here, that burden would be upon his shoulders alone. He had to think what he'd do next. He could feel his heart beat rapidly in his chest, enough that it sounded like a drum, and the smell of alcohol and smoke in the air almost burned his lungs. Where was the shooter hiding?

"Hey, Spidey! Is that you, baby boy?"

_Oh God, please don't be -! _

Spider-Man dared to peer around the corner of table. There – standing on the bar itself – stood one very familiar looking person: Deadpool. He was dressed rather casually and not in his standard uniform, which was a cause for concern as the older man usually only acted this way when he was _paid_ to act this way, and he waved his hand in greeting in a way that made it clear that he forgot that he was also holding his gun. In any moment there would probably be a team outside to try and take Deadpool – _Wade – _out, which wouldn't be good.

He stood up and looked to man that towered over him from the bar, but he couldn't help but to feel a little intimidated. Wade stood there in baggy jeans and an old t-shirt that was faded with time, with an open hooded jacket that bore the 'Deadpool' motif, and on his head was an old red cap. He looked almost handsome considering that his scarring was minimal today, with his brown eyes shining almost across the room, and Spider-Man had to remind himself that he and MJ had not long broken up . . . not to mention that this was the middle of an absolute emergency. He chided himself for admiring Wade at such an inopportune time.

It took him a moment to walk centre of the room and to lock eyes with Wade. He felt an underlying sense of fury and disappointment, but – to his relief – it appeared that no one had been hurt yet and certainly no one had been killed. Why would Wade do something like this? He must have walked in as a civilian, without even his mask to hide his identity or mark this as a professional hit, and yet _something_ must have set him off. Spider-Man kept the eye-contact, but he soon began to see what looked like tears to the mercenary's eyes.

"What up, Spidey? I totally –"

"Let them go, Wade," said Spider-Man.

Wade let out a sound that was rather like something a teenage girl would make. It was petulant and childish, something between a throat-clearing and a whine, and he dropped his guns to his side with a melodramatic gesture. He even slumped over, with his knees bent and his back in a lazy arch, and the pout on his lips would have been almost adorable in any other circumstances. The mercenary lifted a gun to wave in a circle to signal the hostages to leave.

Spider-Man raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, where he then lowered his head and let out a rather low sigh. The hostages ran out in a large rush, so that he could feel them pushing against him and jostling him on their way out, which – he hated to admit – was somewhat painful against his several cuts from the window earlier. They left quickly, but one woman paused at the very end to turn and give him a smile of gratitude, before she left with the rest of the people. They were safe now, but the police would soon expect Spider-Man to leave with his latest criminal catch. He would have to act quickly.

"Did I do good, sweetums?"

"What the heck were you thinking?" Spider-Man glared beneath his mask. "No, don't tell me. We probably have five minutes at most before the police come rushing in here to arrest you, so we don't have time for this malarkey! Is there a back-door we can use?"

"You're always welcome to use my back-door, you -!"

"_Wade, _don't push me!"

Wade groaned and holstered his guns. He stretched a little with his arms, which only served to show off his muscles and cause Spider-Man to look awkwardly away, even if there was no possible way for his friend – and the bane of his existence – to see the blush. Wade jumped down off the bar, although he still seemed to tower above Spider-Man, and then the smile on his mouth was wiped away and replaced with the previous pout. It was hard to tell _what _Wade felt. He seemed a strange mixture of happiness and sadness. Did he hide his pain behind a mask of a smile? Spider-Man sincerely began to worry.

"Yeah, there's a door out back, but –"

"Good, then come on," snapped Spider-Man. "Follow me until we get outside. The second I open the back-door, I want you to jump onto my back and hold on tight. If I hear you make _one_ sexual innuendo or come-on, I'll web you up and drop you right into a police car. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah! I hear you! Let's get going. I want to spider-back!"

"No. _No. _You are not referring to it as a spider-back!"

"Piggybacking the Spider?"

He drew in a deep breath and tried to ignore the childish grin on Wade's face, almost as if he could barely contain his excitement and hero-worship over a chance to ride with Spider-Man, but he counted to ten in his mind and pinched the bridge of his nose to fend off a headache. It was then that he looked up and pushed Wade towards the back with a hard push, which caused the older man to stumble forward as Spider-Man followed behind him. He tried not to stamp his feet, but he was so angry that it seemed to exude into his every movement.

"Just _move_, Wade!"

They quickly made their way through the kitchen, before they reached the back-door and Spider-Man swung it as wide as it would open. He had nearly forgotten that he had given permission for Wade to jump upon him, so that at once the heavy weight nearly bent him in double, but there was something oddly comforting about having those muscular arms and legs around him. Wade gave a little kick, before crossing his legs, almost as if he were trying to goad a horse into moving. It took all of Spider-Man's self-control not to leave him there.

He aimed his hand quickly to shoot a web up high, before he began to swing both of them throughout the city and away from the sight of the police below, although it was hard to stay out of attention when Wade constantly hollered and cheered from his place on Spider-Man's back. It was also not helped by the way that _something_ appeared to poke him in his back. He let out a low growl in the back of his throat, whilst he dropped down onto a roof far out of the way, before he forced Wade off of his back and walked far across the roof to where the building met an even higher building. The wall provided a small piece of camouflage.

Wade laughed loudly and wandered across the roof to stand opposite Spider-Man, but there was just something about his expression that truly worried Spider-Man, so much so that he nearly forgot the anger and betrayal that he felt about the original crime. The older man still wore a rather large smile, enough so that it was almost contagious, but those brown eyes held dark circles and a sheen of water, and it was hard not to see the pain behind them. He had never before considered Wade capable of any real emotional depth.

"Thanks for helping me out there, Spidey!"

Spider-Man gave a long exhale of breath. He _should_ have just left Wade there for the cops to deal with, especially when he had committed a crime and very nearly hurt people in the process, and who was to say that he _wouldn't_ have shot someone had Spider-Man not turned up in the nick of time? He leaned against the brick wall and raised a hand to touch at his temple. He could see Wade's breath in the cold air, as well as the blush to his cheeks.

"I don't know why I always bail you out," he snapped.

"You love me! That's why!" Wade laughed and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I spent all morning looking for you, baby boy! I knew you would tell me not to hurt anyone and to be strong and all those nice things that only you ever say, but I couldn't find you anywhere! I tried to find out my spare Spidey mask, but you must have stolen it back from me! It's helpful, you know, to look in a mirror and see your face . . . couldn't even –!"

"You – you look in a mirror and pretend to _be_ me? That's – I don't even – _wow_," Spider-Man rubbed his hand over his face. "I don't want you to have my mask, as I can't trust you not to pretend to be me, but . . . what if I got you a photograph instead? I can sign it, too."

"That would be so totally awesome! I have the perfect spot for it, too, right –"

"On one condition: you tell me why you held up the bar."

"No fair, Spidey! No hard questions!"

Wade threw his hands up in the air and gave a spin around. It was rare to see him so confident without his mask, although his self-confidence seemed to fluctuate along with his sanity, and yet lately he seemed remarkably better than usual. He had stopped hearing the voices in his head, although he claimed that it made him lonely. He had stopped blacking out and losing time, although he claimed it made it harder to deal with the guilt. The question was why a man so much improved would relapse so severely.

"It isn't _that_ hard a question," Spider-Man muttered.

He crossed his arms over his chest and watched as Wade appeared to play something of a game on the roof, so that he almost danced between the cracks in the cement and tried to test how far he could jump, and Spider-Man had to smile at the childlike behaviour. It was a few moments later when Wade took a running jump onto the ledge, then back-flipped back again, showing a skill that only a famed mercenary like Deadpool could ever possess. The older man then returned to Spider-Man's side and leaned against the wall beside him, before he pursed his lips and nodded his head from side to side. He eventually spoke with a question:

"Hey, if we're playing question time, can I go first?"

"Sure," said Spider-Man. "Shoot."

"Would you say that I'm a bad person?"

Spider-Man was taken aback. It wasn't often that he ever heard Wade ask such a serious question, but he could see the pleading look on the other man's face. Wade's smile was sad and broken, with his eyes soft and focussed solely upon Spider-Man's mask, and he was waiting – unable to judge from facial expressions – for some sort of answer that could settle whatever need it was that he had to know. Wade was only a few inches away from him, so that when he turned his head to his right he could almost feel the other man's breath.

It was a difficult question to answer, which left him trying to hurriedly remember the last time Wade had ever asked him a question along these lines, but his mind was truly drawing a real blank. He knew that there was a lot hinging on this one question, because Wade _idolised _Spider-Man and _respected _him, and hardly anyone ever thanked Wade or checked in on Wade or asked after Wade. The man – well – he was _alone_. It was a heavy burden on Spider-Man, because he sometimes wondered if he was Wade's only source of validation and emotional support. He didn't want to say anything wrong . . . he remembered his uncle long ago saying that you never knew what pain lay behind a person's mask, as well as that you never would want to be the one to live with the guilt of breaking a person . . .

_Was Wade truly a bad person?_

"What? No . . . _No_!"

"You can tell me the truth," muttered Wade. "I can take it."

"I _am_ telling the truth," snapped Spider-Man. "I think you're just a good man that has done bad things, but those bad things don't _define _you. We can't pick who we were in our pasts; we've all done bad things, Wade, but what matters are the choices we make here and now. You can redeem yourself. You can make amends. Every single person alive is entitled to a second-chance, but it's up to _you_ to make the right choices. You have to move forward."

"That's easy for you to say! You don't have a bad bone in your body! I didn't even think I had a conscience, you know? I thought it was all over with, too. I just keep seeing it . . . it's there in my head . . . in my dreams. I thought Cable was doing it, but he's gone! I thought I was fixed, Spidey, but I'm not. I'm _nothing_! Do I -? Do I deserve to die?"

"No! God, no! You don't deserve to die at all! Never!"

"You're a bastard sometimes."

That caught his full attention. It was hard to ignore the way that Wade moved just slightly, so that he fell onto his back and slouched down the wall, and now his hanging head – covered by his hood so that it was mostly out of sight – was pretty much on level with Spider-Man's. There was such sadness and pain to his features, almost as if . . . almost as if he _wanted_ to die. It was as if death was the ultimate reward, an end to his pain, and so to be told he deserved _life_ was the actual slap in the face and the actual cruelty, maybe even as if death itself wouldn't want him. How far gone into madness and depression could he be?

"What happened?" Spider-Man asked.

Spider-Man reached out his hand to touch Wade's shoulder. The muscles beneath his palm felt hard and strong, enough so that he was reminded of just why he and MJ had been forced to break up, and he wondered whether such a touch was even appropriate considering the situation at hand. Wade didn't respond how he expected, either. The older man actually _tensed_, so that it was as if he had been burned by the touch, or as if he had expected violence in place of kindness. Spider-Man withdrew his hand with a sigh.

"You can't avoid talking about it, Wade."

"Why not? It's not as though anyone got hurt," Wade muttered. "I tried to leave a message to you in the paper, but the douchebag at the desk thought it was a prank! How else was I meant to get your attention? Not that I did it _to _get your attention, but what's a guy to do?"

"You want Spider-Man's attention? Try writing him a letter," he snapped. "You can try keeping an eye out and shouting me, or listening to police scanners for my whereabouts, or even just getting yourself in the papers for doing something _good_! You know what else? I don't believe you, Wade. You're making _excuses_! You told me that you wanted to find me to _stop _you from doing something stupid, but then you went and did something so -!

"Wade, I _believe_ in you and I _know_ you can be a good person! If you need someone to have your back, I'll always have it for you. I won't have you making excuses, however, not least when it puts innocent people in danger! The only reason people didn't get hurt is because I showed up to put a stop to your shenanigans! You were doing _so _well, too! You haven't killed anyone in so long and even Logan has to admit you've improved, so what brought all this on? Why did you do this? You can't hide from it, Wade, because if you ignore the problem then you aren't _solving _the problem. We need to fix this, Wade, for your sake."

"How can you fix it, Spidey? It's _me_ that's broken! You can't fix that."

"No one is ever broken beyond repair, Wade. Let me in."

"I – I had a bad dream, alright?"

Spider-Man was grateful that he wore his mask. He knew that if Wade saw how wide his eyes went, or how his lips pursed into a tight line, that he would have been deeply hurt and probably would have tried to back-pedal. It was impossible to hide how shocked and infuriated he felt, but what Wade needed now was _support_ and _acceptance_. The truth was that this might sound trivial and ridiculous to Spider-Man, but it was clearly something important and meaningful to Wade, and it would only do more harm than good to dismiss his words.

He drew in a deep breath and looked across the rooftop, but the area around them was so built up that seeing the scenery was somewhat impossible. It was cold enough that he could feel his throat begin to feel sore, in that similar burning sensation to when he exerted himself in the cold weather, and he tried to breathe slower in order to control the feeling. He looked to Wade next to him, but the man had shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down at the floor with a pained expression. He had to be surely cold in his open jacket. Spider-Man was tempted to reach out and do the jacket up, but instead he asked:

"A bad dream?"

Wade lifted his head a little in apparent surprise, but – when Spider-Man saw the expression on his face – it was clear that he was _pleasantly _surprised by his hero's interest. There was a smile on his lips, which almost broke Spider-Man's heart to see, because he wondered how many people had shot Wade down in the past . . . he must have been dismissed or ignored or spoken over dozens of times, at least for him to believe that no one would want for him to continue a single train of thought. The prompt to continue meant the world to him.

"Yeah, didn't I tell you?"

"You – er – didn't mention any dream."

"Well, what can I tell you? You know how boring backstories are; I doubt the writers even really know which one is most legit, let alone our readers, baby boy! It all started so long ago that I bet most people can't even _remember_ that issue, anyway! I mean . . . I was back with Cable back then . . . you remember him, right? We got into that big fight over some stuff, so he got back at me by humiliating me over international TV, think he thought I'd change my mind once everyone started laughing at me and stuff . . .

"We kind of divorced after that. Can you divorce if you never really got married? It don't matter none, I suppose, because it's all over now. I couldn't get work after that. No one wants to hire a mercenary made to seem insane and disloyal and humiliated over television, but when I took the _only_ job willing to hire me –! It was to show up Cable, wasn't it? Way I saw it, the bastard had it coming. All he did was embarrass me and ruin my life and spend his time trying to control me. You know what he did? He only went and ruined me on television again, but then hooked up with his ex, too, like he intended it that way all from the start. The sparring matches that we used to do? She took over.

"I was bitter, sure, but not so bitter as to do anything about it. He started doing things to me though, like messing with my mind . . . I kept seeing the people I killed everywhere, but I ain't the sort to get depressed or guilty by that! The people I killed all deserved it or – _hey, don't give me that look!_ I know it's wrong _now_, but it was different back then! You don't get it though, Spidey! They were on the television and in books and on advertising campaigns -! They kept saying stuff to me, too . . . they said I was ugly, worthless, that I should die. . ."

Wade paused to shuffle on the spot. It was clear that he was cold, which worried Spider-Man despite the fact that the healing factor should protect him, and so reached out and did the zipper up for the older man. There was a brief look of confusion on Wade's face, before he gave a bright smile and leaned on the wall to gaze at the man beside him. It was a little disconcerting, but Spider-Man tried to mirror his body language and leaned on his side, too.

"He turned that shit off eventually," said Wade.

"It must have hurt, regardless," replied Spider-Man. "You saw the people you hurt? I – I can remember every single person that died because of me . . . I don't think I could have dealt with that kind of guilt. I'm just glad you didn't do something stupid."

"How could I? I would have just woken up again. Like I said, it wasn't the guilt that got to me, because I wasn't going to feel guilty for a bunch of people that had been asking to be hit! It was what they were saying, you know? They confirmed my every worst fear . . . they made me think about things I didn't want to think about . . . Cable said it wasn't his fault, because he just made me see the people, but he didn't control what they were _saying_. He said that was all my subconscious, but maybe that's why I keep seeing them . . . hearing them . . .

"So yeah, it's been a bad few weeks, Spidey! I keep going to sleep and I keep seeing people saying how much they hate me, or how I'm only good to get people killed, or how I'm an ugly freak, and they won't stop this time around! I went into that bar and everyone was _laughing_ and who's to say they weren't laughing _at _me? Cable can't stop it this time."

"Wade, why didn't you find me sooner? I could have helped!"

"It's fine! Got to keep smiling, right?"

The smile on Wade's face appeared all the more disconcerting than it had ever done in the past, and Spider-Man suddenly understood why: it was as much of a mask as the literal one that he so often wore. There was a dark and hideous pain in his brown eyes, one that was visible despite the laughter and the casual dismissal of his torture, and Spider-Man wondered just how deep the depths of such pain ran. Wade deserved more than this treatment.

Wade looked straight at Spider-Man, almost as if he expected the younger man to run away at any moment, and the fear in his expression was as clear as the pain itself. How did he fool anyone when he looked so transparent? No, the better question was how Cable could _use_ this weakness to his own advantage, manipulating Wade in order to keep him close and to _use_ him as if he were no more than a tool . . . something to be discarded on a whim, but picked up when it was convenient. Wade was human. Wade was worth more than that. Why had he stayed with Cable for as long as he had? What had he gotten from that relationship?

There was a long moment of silence between them. Spider-Man was starting to feel the cold, which was a concern when he couldn't heal as quickly as his companion, and he had forgone wearing anything underneath his suit that particular day, too. He drew in a deep breath and reached out to place a hand on Wade's shoulder, grateful that this time he didn't flinch in the least. Spider-Man smiled beneath his mask. He hated that it had taken one man and one bad week to reduce Wade to such pain, but he would do what he could to help his friend.

"You know it's not your fault, Wade?"

"Yeah, that bastard had no right to mind-rape me, but –"

"No. No 'buts'! What he did is tantamount to spousal abuse! He humiliated you to _isolate _you, so that you had nowhere else to turn other than to him, and then he psychologically _abused_ you in order so – so what? That you'd run back to him to make him stop it? It's no different to if he had pushed you and you tripped down the stairs, he could easily have said 'it was your choice to stand so close to the stairs' or 'I never intended for you to fall', but the strike that caused it would all be his doing. It'd still be the worst excuse ever.

"I – I'm ashamed to say it," said Spider-Man, "but I once hit someone close to me. It was near the end of our relationship, but even though she blamed herself . . . it was my fault and my doing. Don't ever let anyone else try to make you take blame for their actions, Wade. You have a lot of stuff to be sorry for and guilty over, but that he _invaded_ your mind and made your worst fears come to life? That's all on Cable."

"Aw, it's nice that you'd come to my defence all like that! You really _do_ love me, huh? Last time I checked, you only came to the protection of people that actually _deserved_ it! Still, you know what? I don't mind! Least I'll never have to worry about your voice haunting my subconscious! Say . . . how _do _I make the voices stop? They ain't exactly lying, are they?"

"Wade, I -! Look, you can't blame yourself for the past!"

"Today wasn't exactly in the past, was it?"

Spider-Man clenched hard on Wade's shoulder. There was a huge element of frustration in dealing with someone so mentally ill, which he _hated_ himself for even thinking, but the truth was that it was all so logical and reasonable in terms of dealing with such emotions. He knew that emotions were rarely controlled by reason at the best of times, let alone that Wade could control his self-loathing or cease to internalise his pain over night, but he hated seeing someone he cared about so deeply _hurting _themselves when they _deserved_ to be happy. He let his hand slide and nervously scratched his head. How could he help Wade?

"Hey, are you free tomorrow, Wade?"

"I'm pretty much free every day, Spidey! Why'd you ask?"

"Do you know where the nearest cemetery to here is? _Good. _I want you to meet me there tomorrow afternoon. Let's say three o'clock? Don't ask any questions, Wade, but just turn up and listen to what I have to say. I think it'll help you."

"You pick the weirdest places for a first date! I like you!"

"Wade, stop it! Stop making jokes!"

Spider-Man pointed his finger close to Wade's face. The older man actually looked somewhat affronted and a little offended, which probably helped no one, but it was just so _frustrating _to hear Wade _dismissing _everything serious! It was almost like he didn't _want_ to feel better about himself or that he -! Damn, it was almost as if he didn't think he _could_ feel better about himself, as if he couldn't risk even hoping for better in case his hopes were dashed. Spider-Man lowered his hand and felt like an absolute ass.

"Look, I've got to go. I'd ask if you need a hug, but –"

Wade suddenly dived at Spider-Man. He felt the arms tight around his waist, even as he raised his arms on instinct and surprise in a way much like a gesture of surrender, and he felt his whole body stiffen as his hands were trapped between his body and Wade's body. There was a moment of absolute panic, as he truly hadn't expected Wade to take his sarcasm seriously in the least, let alone lean his head down on Spider-Man's shoulder and cling to him as if he were clinging to life itself. He swallowed hard and bit his lip beneath his mask.

It was clear that Wade needed this moment of human contact, especially as he was fairly certain that he could feel some tears through his suit. He thought that Wade perhaps used this as a way to hide his pain. Spider-Man drew in a deep breath and lifted his arms to wrap around the tops of his friend's shoulders, although this felt far too intimate for his liking, but he wasn't going to criticise Wade on his method of hugging when he was already in such a bad place. He simply drew in a deep breath and let his head rest against the top of the other's chest, whilst his hands played loosely behind Wade's neck awkwardly. It was almost nice.

"Spidey hugs are the best! Don't let go, okay?"

"_You're a good person, Wade._"

Spider-Man held tighter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two **

Spider-Man gave a heavy sigh.

It was already long past three o'clock, but he had yet to see Wade anywhere. The one consolation was that no one could see him from his perch in the tree, which still held a surprising amount of foliage despite the winter months, and he could thus avoid any forming crowds or eager fans. There was also a surprisingly beautiful view from the branches above, which afforded him a chance to gaze across the cemetery from all directions. He would see Wade coming long before Wade would ever see him.

The snow had settled during the course of the night, so that all across the cemetery there existed a blanket of white, and he couldn't help but remember how much his uncle had loved the snow when he had been alive. He remembered how his uncle would say how the snow hid all the imperfections of the city, how pure and unblemished their neighbourhood could become with just a touch of nature, and how every step taken through the day was like a map of the souls that came and went. Spider-Man shook his head at such sentimentality. It was nice and poetic now, but at the time he had dismissed his uncle and ignored his words. He only wished that now he had been more respectful.

There was a long moment of regret. He knew that he could never go back and apologise to his uncle, but he _could _help Wade and improve the future instead. Spider-Man sighed again and watched as the air in front of him let out a white mist, whilst his body felt the chill even through the extra layers he had worn beneath his costume, and he had to wonder whether Wade would come. He had been hurt by so many people . . . Cable, Syrin, Mary . . .

"Hey, buddy! What're you looking at?"

Spider-Man jumped in surprised. The voice had come from directly behind him, so close that he could hear it loud in his ear and feel the breath through his mask. It was eerie and terrifying in both one fell swoop, especially when he considered that he sat outside the gates to the cemetery, and all at once images of ghosts and aliens and monsters came into his mind. There was an instinctual fear unlike any other. He jumped away from whoever – or whatever – was behind him and slipped from the branch entirely.

It was lucky that he held such good reflexes, for he was able to catch himself midway through his fall and land on all fours. He kept one leg bent ready to spring away, if need be, whilst the other he extended ready for a sweeping kick and to retain his balance, and on the floor he pressed all five fingers of his right hand and allowed his left to stay high to aim his webbing against his potential attacker. The snow crinkled underneath him, whilst the moisture from it seeped through his costume and made his skin wet to the touch, and he hated how the material now clung to his feet and hands in an awful manner. He risked frostbite for this?

"Dude, great save!"

"Wade, if that's you, I swear I'll –"

Spider-Man looked up to see Deadpool standing in full costume. The man was just one branch behind the one where Spider-Man had sat, where he leaned against the trunk with a casual pose and a grin that could be seen underneath his mask. It showed an impressive amount of skill and self-control, because Spider-Man had never even seen him coming, let alone sensed his presence or noticed him climb beside him. He wondered why his spider-sense had not alerted him to it all, but Deadpool clearly didn't intend to be much of a threat.

"You said three, right?"

"Yeah, I did," Spider-Man snapped. "You're half-an-hour late!"

"Hey, it's not my fault that you didn't look behind you! What kind of superhero lets his guard down like that? You know, I was totally tempted to spit-ball a DP design on your back, but I figured you might just feel that. Say, why are we here? I'll say it before and I'll say it again: worst first date ever! You know there's this totally awesome _chimichanga_ restaurant opened up in town? I'd say we should go, but can you go in uniform? Hey, free hero tacos!"

"Wade, for the last time: I do _not _get free food for being Spider-Man!" He paused to think back on what the older man had just said and sighed. "This is also _not_ a date! If I wanted to romance you or seduce you, you would darn well _know_ it. Look, just get down here, okay?"

"Sure, sure! You're sure in a bad mood. Who died? _Ha, get it?_ We're at a –"

"It'll be _your_ funeral, if you don't hurry up!"

"Okay, sheesh!"

Deadpool jumped down. He landed next to Spider-Man, who had moved into a crouched position, and – when Spider-Man turned his head – the first thing he saw was the legs of the mercenary before him. There was something to be said for spandex-covered muscle, but the downside to such an upside was that they _really_ didn't leave anything to the imagination, and as such he _really_ couldn't afford to become distracted. He also didn't want to confuse matters when the point of this was to help a man that desperately needed help.

It was then that Spider-Man stood up, enough that he could finally look his companion in the eyes . . . more or less. The roads were quiet today, mostly due to snow and the location of the cemetery, and as such he could hear the shuffling of Deadpool's feet far more than he could actually see them. It was a rather irritating crunching sound, repeated over and over, until Spider-Man felt his hands clenching into tight fists, and – as he craned his neck to look at Deadpool – he realised that the older man probably didn't even realise that he was even fidgeting as he was, which was worrying in itself. Spider-Man sighed again.

"There was a reason I asked you here," he said.

"You mean beyond a make-out session? I'm so disappointed!" Deadpool raised a hand to his face in imitation of wiping away a tear. "Don't think I haven't noticed you checking out my ass during missions! I know it's good to look at, but it's even better to touch!"

"I forgot just how annoying you can be in your mask. Wade, you're here because there's someone I want you to meet . . . I couldn't get what you said about Cable out of my head, you know? It's been driving me mad nearly as much as those dreams have been driving _you_ mad. I just – I just can't get how anyone could treat someone they love like that, especially when you're already pretty self-loathing as it is. I thought this person may help you."

"Er, they aren't a zombie, are they? Just I so don't –"

"No zombies, I swear. Come on."

Spider-Man nodded towards the cemetery gates. He walked towards them with a slight hunch to his shoulders and his head low; the cold was beginning to become something of a nuisance, enough so that it affected his concentration, but he also felt somewhat self-conscious. There would be no camouflaging into his surroundings today, because the vast empty space and white snow would only serve to highlight the two men dressed only in red. He wondered how Deadpool could walk so tall and whistle so loudly.

It was strange to Spider-Man how someone could be _more_ confident in costume, although the very thought did strike him as a little hypocritical. He would be the first to admit that Peter Parker was a lot more timid and submissive than his costume-clad counterpart. Still, there was just something rather odd about a superhero striding through a cemetery on a snowy day, not least when a dangerous mercenary trailed behind singing show-tunes to himself, and frankly he felt a strange mixture of disrespect and amusement. There should have been something awful in Deadpool's rendition of _'From This Moment On'_, especially when he couldn't sing a note, but his uncle had loved that song so much . . .

How could Wade hide his pain so easily?

There was a long moment where he found himself wondering where the man's mask began and where it ended, as it seemed like Wade was never freer than when he hid his face beneath those layers of material. He almost envied the older man. It would have been something that he would have discussed with his uncle at any other time, as he wondered which identity he had carved _for_ himself was more true _to_ himself, but this day was about Wade and rebuilding what Cable had torn down. The likelihood was that Wade's issues ran far deeper than one given event, but those events – that relationship – had confirmed his worst fears about himself, so it seemed as good a place as any to begin.

They came to a stop beside a simple gravestone. It was well tended and covered in a layer of snow, but – as Spider-Man knelt down – he couldn't resist the urge to brush at the stone to remove the excess. The snow was cold on his hand and yet the sting to his skin felt a small comfort. He clenched his fist and tried to remind himself that whatever he felt was only a small iota of what his uncle felt upon his death, although that only added to his guilt.

"This who we're here to see?"

"Yeah," said Spider-Man. "Meet Benjamin Parker."

"Benjamin Parker? Hey, I know that name! He was the guy who went to Australia for a crime he didn't commit, only to come back to find his child being raised by an evil dude, so he cut everyone's necks with a razorblade! I remember, because the music was pretty cool!"

"What? _No! _That's 'Benjamin Barker' for one thing," Spider-Man snapped. "It's also a fictional movie, for another. This is a man that actually lived and actually died. He had a family that loved and adored him, as well as friends and colleagues that respected him, and even now his legacy lives on through those closest to him. I think you would have liked him. He just had a way of _understanding _people. He was so wise."

Spider-Man let his hands trail down to the engraving. He could feel the indentation on the stone even through his fingers, which he allowed to slowly trace over the name, and he felt somehow closer to his uncle through the small act. There were small droplets of water pooling at the bottom of each letter, along with the start of what looked like moss, which meant that he would have to take a day off sometime in the near future to do some maintenance and gardening around the grave. Deadpool stood so close to him that he could feel the front of the other man's legs against his back.

"He was also the first person I killed," Spider-Man said.

He stood up and realised just how close that Deadpool stood beside him. The older man exuded warmth that was most welcome, but – even as Spider-Man folded his arms and stood with perfect poise – he felt his companion's chest upon his upper arm and the side of his leg pressed against his in turn. They must have appeared quite close, perhaps even intimate, but luckily no one was present to misinterpret their actions.

"Dude, _I'm _the one that kills people, remember?" Deadpool laughed.

"Yeah, but you're not the only one." Spider-Man turned to face him. "There was a time when I was only concerned about myself, where I felt that I had no duty to the world outside of what the world owed _me. _I used my powers for selfish means. I was bitter about so much; my parents were gone, I was bullied at school, and I was abused as a child. I was just so _angry_. It felt like my powers were _finally_ a chance to get revenge on those that wronged me, so I could _finally_ be something other than a victim. I guess I forgot that the world isn't so easily defined.

"I ended up becoming the very thing that I hated. The world isn't so black-and-white, Wade, and – by seeing it in such simplistic terms – we do it an injustice. I guess that was my downfall. There came a day when I ran across a crime in progress, where a security guard was chasing after a criminal . . . I didn't see it as my problem, so I just didn't do _anything_, because what was it to do with me? He hadn't stolen from _me_. It wasn't _my_ family he hurt. I guess I learned the hard way that indifference is just as bad as evil itself, because our inaction is what _allows _evil to flourish. Life is all about learning, right?

"I let the burglar escape," said Spider-Man quietly. "It wasn't until later that day that I learned just what happened to him. The man that _I _let go was the same man that killed Benjamin Parker. I arrived not long after the crime had happened, saw him lying in a pool of his own blood, and I knew that his man – _this man right here _– would still have been alive had I just _done_ something! It was my fault he died, Wade! I – I killed him!"

There was an awkward silence between them, but made all the more awkward by the slight quiver to his voice and the way that he could already feel the tears well within his eyes. He drew in a staggered breath and shook his head. The cold air refreshed him and kept him alert, but he still felt a pang of embarrassment at having revealed something so personal and secret in front of Wade. It was a horrid realisation, but – whilst Wade shared so much with him – he couldn't remember ever having trusted Wade with a personal recollection or piece of information in their entire relationship.

He looked down to avoid seeing Wade's face, as he hoped that the older man could still respect him and take something from his story. They had effectively ruined the snow underneath, so that it looked scarred and marred with a dozen footprints, each patch of snow compacted into a muddy mess beneath their feet. It had a strange mottled look that seemed wrong somehow. He made a mental note to push all the snow away and clear the grave entirely, but the pattern reminded him of Wade's skin . . . he would leave it.

"Spidey, you're crazy, you –"

"No, Wade! It was my fault. I had his blood on my hands," Spider-Man said coldly. "I could feel it hot and raw and see how pale he had become. He had a wife, you know, a nephew that lived with him, too. They were _devastated_, Wade. There was one thing that he used to say to his nephew: _with great power comes great responsibility_. It's what I have lived by since. I – I'm not telling you this for sympathy, but just so you know that people _can_ change.

"Cable should never have hurt you like he did. If he had tried that with me, I can honestly say that I may not be here today. I don't think I'm strong enough to deal with that level of guilt, but what if I _had _let myself been consumed by guilt back then? What if I had hurt myself or decided to never use my powers again? I _used_ what happened to me to motivate me, to push me forward so that maybe I could redeem myself, and – although I can never bring this man back – I can make it so that I never repeat my mistake ever again. If I weren't here, people would be hurt or dead or worse. You can learn from me, Wade."

"You make yourself out to be a bad guy, baby boy! You slipped up _once _and got _one _person killed, which hardly makes you a killer! I realised something during that time I spent with Cable, which is that I think I just stopped caring . . . I can't even _remember_ how many people I killed. You remember this guy enough to _visit_ him, but I can't even remember their faces!"

"It doesn't matter who you _were, _what matters is who you _choose_ to be."

"Yeah, well what if this is all I am?"

Spider-Man turned and faced his companion. It was hard for him to judge what the other man felt, because his mask hid his facial expressions and his voice gave little away. There was an element of wistfulness to his tone, along with his gaze which appeared transfixed on the headstone, and the hand on his hip loosely played with the clasp of his holster. It was as if he were caught between an instinctual need for violence and a desire to prove himself.

"Do you remember who you wanted to be?" Spider-Man asked.

There was a sudden silence in the air. It was enough to make him feel rather self-conscious, as the cold had seeped through his suit and made his fingers feel numb, and – even as he clenched and unclenched his fists – he could feel Deadpool staring at him. The mask he wore was intimidating; it made him look inhuman and stole away any indication of emotion, but Spider-Man reminded himself that his friend _wanted_ to escape violence. Deadpool also trusted him and respected him, but the tension was still there.

"Spidey, you want to say that again in English?"

"You were a kid once," said Spider-Man. "You had to want to be something, right? I mean, just think about it . . . you probably dreamt of being a cop or a soldier or a doctor . . . we all start off in the exact same way. Kids are all innocent. They usually dream of helping people or just being good people, totally dependent on those around them, and no one ever says that a child or a toddler or a baby is evil or cruel or deserves death . . .

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that no one is _born_ evil, Wade. We're led to where we are by choice and by circumstance. I was once an arrogant a-hole that got a good person killed, but I worked hard on improving myself and helping people, so that now I'm a name that people can call on whenever they need someone to save them. I'm a hero, but _so are you. _You get confused as me all the time! You sign signatures as me, help people as me, and you try to speak kindly to people as me. You think you're some bad guy? The way I see it is that you have _so_ much potential. Let yourself move on: right your wrongs."

"I promised you that I'd be good, Spidey," Deadpool replied. "I haven't killed anyone in several issues now, plus I still have enough money to buy you that spider-cave I mentioned, but it's just so _hard_! You know what it's like when you're kicked out of _Providence_ of all places? Hell, the X-Men did an open call for all mutants once, even _they_ turned me away!"

"Well, that's their loss, isn't it? You can prove yourself a better hero than any of them."

"You mean I can make them totally jealous and so sorry they rejected me?"

"Er – sure – why not?"

Deadpool gave a small whoop of amusement. He thrust his hand high into the air and gave something of a spin, before he assumed a pose that reminded Spider-Man of a cartoon character whose name he couldn't quite remember, but it resulted in him giving a peace-sign by his temples. Spider-Man smiled at the way the mercenary's mask bunched at the corners, revealing a smile that was both sincere and bright. He didn't want to burst his friend's bubble. If the idea of other people being jealous made him feel wanted, so be it.

There was the sound of a car or two pulling up on the road outside. It was a concern, because the last thing he wanted was to disturb the mourning of innocent civilians, but – likewise – he couldn't afford to be seen with Deadpool. The popularity of camera-phones was the bane of his life, so that even stopping to buy a hotdog could be enough to get his photo sold to the _Bugle_, and he couldn't risk that people would be considerate enough of him to not sneak a shot. There was also the fact that they could use the name of his uncle to investigate his real identity, which would bring about a whole new set of issues.

He looked to Deadpool and waited for him to speak. It was uncharacteristic of him to appear so quiet, but that only meant that he was taking this with the seriousness that it deserved, and – as Spider-Man knew from experience – that in itself was a huge accomplishment. The mercenary rarely took anything seriously, but the way he looked to the grave was indication enough that his words had touched something inside of him. He had gotten through to Deadpool on some level.

"This guy really meant a lot to you, huh?"

Spider-Man jumped in surprise. He had been rather lost in thought and hadn't expected this sudden question, but – now that Deadpool had asked – he had a duty to answer as honestly as he could. There was a slight noise from afar, as he heard the noise of a couple talking a little louder than he would have anticipated in a cemetery, but it sounded as if they were walking in the opposite direction to where they currently stood. They were likely just mourners visiting a grave, as the ground would be too solid for a grave to be dug or for a funeral to be in procession. He looked to Deadpool and nodded.

"Yeah, you have no idea," said Spider-Man. "I lost my parents, my ex-girlfriend, even my best friend . . . lately I even lost my unborn child. My girlfriend and I broke up, too, I guess you could say it was due to _conflicting interests_. This man is my one source of hope and inspiration. When things get too bad, I remind myself that he would want me to carry on, because – whilst I can't change the world – I can make it a better place one deed at a time."

"That's why you brought me out here? You could have summed it up with a neat little 'believe in yourself and not what people say you are'. Huh, then again that's way too much like a Saturday morning cartoon! Say, do you really think . . . I can be good?"

"I think the only thing that's stopping you _is_ you."

"So what're you trying to say?"

Deadpool raised his hands to hook them behind his head. He gave a little arch to his back, which was enough to make his costume strain and his muscles bulge, and – whilst the effect was likely unintended – it was enough to make Spider-Man blush beneath his mask. It was a relief to know that the mirrored eye-patches to his mask would only reflect back Deadpool's costume back at the older man, because he couldn't help but let his eyes trail. He shook his head to erase the inappropriate thoughts from his mind.

"Do you still believe in me?"

"You mean after that whole dead guy thing?" Deadpool asked. "I sure do! It wasn't your fault, you know? The only person responsible for a murder is the murderer, but even if you killed him yourself it wouldn't matter! You _help_ people! You're my hero!"

"I'm glad," said Spider-Man. "If I'm your hero then _trust_ me when I say that I believe in you, but that you can also turn your life around. It will be hard, but the payoff will be worth it when it's _your _name that people are chanting; you won't be happy because of the recognition . . . you won't be happy that you've finally a hero . . . you'll be happy _because_ _you're helping people! _You'll be happy_ with yourself!_"

"You say that like you really believe it! Still, you haven't lied to me yet." Deadpool took a step closer to the gravestone. "You're also the only person that's ever _thanked_ me for a job well done. Say, do you think this guy will mind if I visit him? If he's awesome enough to inspire you, maybe he'll inspire me, too. I know what it's like to be alone."

"He won't ever be alone so long as we keep his memory alive."

"But would he mind?"

Spider-Man smiled warmly. He lowered his head to look at the stone, whilst he brought his hands to his mask to breathe some warmth into them, and he considered the question with all the seriousness he deserved. The air in front of his mask turned into a small stream of steam, so that it was almost a distraction, but he focussed on the question at hand. Would Benjamin mind Deadpool's presence? _No. _He knew that his uncle would want to Deadpool to have the fresh start he deserved and a second chance to better himself.

"He wouldn't mind at all," he said honestly.

It was then that Deadpool knelt down before the stone, with an amount of respect that was surprising considering the mercenary's usually crude and casual nature. He appeared to be searching for something, as his head moved in all directions very subtly, until he made a strange noise and reached out to touch the headstone. There was a rough sound of material scraping against old stone, as well as the rustling of snow falling from its resting spot.

They allowed themselves a moment of quiet. Spider-Man recited an old prayer in his head, as he recalled the image of his uncle's face and the sound of his laughter, and on the ground before him Deadpool let his palm rest flat upon the stone. He wondered what Ben would have thought about this . . . about _all_ of this. The fact that his nephew had become a vigilante might have been a cause of concern for him, but even more so that he had befriended someone so dangerous, and yet a part of him thought that Ben would have appreciated Deadpool on some level. He sighed and reached out a hand to help Deadpool up.

"Wade, I want you to do something for me."

"Huh? You name it, Spidey! I already know that you don't like killing though, so I swear I'll stop doing that! I already promised you though, didn't I? I mean I know not everyone's heads grow back, although it'd be so much more convenient, but then they'd come back so –"

"I know you did. I trust you to keep that promise, too." Spider-Man said. "This is going to sound odd, but . . . okay, well, I have to keep my identity secret, you know that, don't you? It means that I can't give you my address or personal information, but I _don't_ want you to have no one to turn to when things get rough . . . how about we make a deal? Every night, eleven o'clock on the dot, we meet up and you help me to patrol?"

"You mean it, sweetie? We're doing a team-up? Will we get our own run, too?"

"It's not a team-up, it's just -!"

Spider-Man ran a hand over his face. It was frustrating that Deadpool would assume this to be some sort of team-up, not least when he hunched over and clutched his hands together as if silently begging, and that he would jump to such assumptions -! It was bad enough when Deadpool made insinuations they were dating to their opponents, or faked his death after switching costumes, or stank up the place after binging on street-food, but to be _actively_ associated with the guy -?

The fact was that the older man looked so childlike and pleaded so sincerely . . . it was hard to stay angry with him and correct his misassumptions. Spider-Man pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache. There were worse people to be associated with, not to mention that this may actually help his friend, and he couldn't deny that he had curious feelings towards the older man, which would be resolved far easier had he the contact to work through them. Deadpool also _needed_ him. If it helped him to think of this as a team-up, who did it hurt really? Spider-Man shook his head and shrugged.

"Forget it," Spider-Man said. "Eleven by the roof where we hugged?"

"You mean it! You want to team-up! This will be so totally awesome! It'll be like 'Spider-Man and Deadpool', but it's better alphabetically and plus I so have way more fans, plus I even have my own movie out soon, too! Only – hey – we're not in that universe, are we? That sucks, but that means we have more freedom to –"

Spider-Man pressed a finger to Deadpool's lips. He felt the older man shut up at once, but he also felt the purse to his friend's lips and heard the smacking sound from his mouth. It was a moment later when he felt something rather hot and wet against his fingertip, which caused him to glare angrily at the realisation that this supposedly grown man was playing childish games, and he removed his hand rather quickly. Deadpool laughed almost manically and patted Spider-Man hard on his shoulder.

"Do you ever shut up?" Spider-Man asked.

"Nope! I'm the merc with the mouth, remember!"

"Okay, then how about this? I'll race you to _Samantha's Tacos_. The one condition is that _you_ have to take the subway and _I_ get to use my webs. You keep saying the subway is the fastest way to get about the city: prove it. Loser buys lunch."

"Deal! Ooh, I get to see where Spidey hides his cash, too."

"If – if you just winked -!"

Deadpool tilted his head to one side with a smile. He just _knew_ that the older man had winked at him, but he couldn't prove it and any accusations would just make _him_ appear to be the one with the one-tracked mind. He cast one last look towards the cemetery gates and figured that now would be as good a place as any to start . . . they would work towards a healthy friendship, one that would restore the damage done by Deadpool's past loves.

"Whatever. On marks, get set . . . _go_!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"MJ? What are you doing here?"

Spider-Man dropped onto the rooftop. It was an easy jump to make; he had crawled down the wall on all fours, so that he felt slightly dizzy from the blood-rush, but there had been six feet to the ground at most. The sense of relief at being upright was immense, but he remained in a crouched position in order to maximise his potential movements. He had to remain alert. He trusted MJ, but she was not supposed to be here and anyone could have followed her.

The wall behind him cast him in shadow, which enabled him an iota of protection against anyone that may have brought her against her will, but – from that same darkness – he could see no hint of foul-play. The snow that covered the rooftop was unmarked aside from the boot-prints of himself and Deadpool, which left it mottled and scarred from weeks of meetings and partings, and MJ's footprints stood alone along the perimeter towards the ledge. He felt a pang of guilt. He could see how she walked alone and how she had sat by the ledge alone. He only hoped that she didn't _feel_ alone.

"My source said they've seen Spider-Man here," said MJ.

He stood up and walked across the rooftop to stand beside her. It was a welcomed distraction from his hour-long search across the city, but there was a part of him that resented the fact that it was _MJ_ that was here. The cityscape was virtually hidden by the buildings before them, whilst the sky above was just a murky mixture of black and grey, and Spider-Man somewhat missed the sight of the stars above. There were some beautiful views in the city, although this certainly wasn't one, but none of them compared to the starry sky.

"They say you meet Deadpool here every night at eleven," she continued. "I wasn't going to come, but I just needed to see you one last time. We barely speak outside of work anymore. I was about to leave, as I didn't think you were coming, but . . ."

"Deadpool's late. I got worried, so I searched the city."

"That answers that then."

The silence between them was awkward. He could hear the slight rustling sound of her sleeveless jacket against her jumper, whilst she fidgeted loosely with the camera that hung from her neck. There was no denying that she still looked beautiful, even after the trauma of losing their child and the inevitable break-up that followed, and – even with cheeks rosy from the cold and fingers shaking with nervousness – she could still stop traffic dead. The fact that he was no longer attracted to her made him feel . . . ashamed.

He looked down to the street below, where there seemed to be a distinct lack of activity, but all around he could hear the sounds of the city in his ears. It was never quiet in New York. There were the sounds of cabs and cars honking from afar, whilst on the pavements pedestrians argued and chatted to one another, and he sometimes struggled to remember what silence was like, especially so when his heart seemed to beat so violently in his ears. He wondered how many of those people below had experienced what he experienced. How many had ended a relationship, betraying every promise made to their lover, because they had lost themselves and forgotten just exactly who they were? He hated how he hurt MJ.

Spider-Man gave a sigh and watched his breath before him. It was so cold in the city during the winter months, which was bad enough for the two of them that had the walls around to block out the worst of the winds, but what about Wade? He could be out there somewhere susceptible to the elements. The thought was enough to make Spider-Man tense and clench his hands, as he drew in a harsh intake of air, and he turned away quickly from the ledge and faced the covered staircase in nervous anticipation. In the past three weeks, Wade had not been late even once. Where was he now?

"I still have some of your things," said MJ.

"I don't need to pick them up," he replied. "I should have everything with any sentimental value, plus I'm sure my mail should all be safely forwarded by now, but – if you think I'm missing anything – just drop it by Aunt May's. I'm still staying there for the time being."

"It's not just about _things, _Peter! I want to _talk_ to you, too. I'm all for being civil, but we were friends once! I – I want to be there to support you through this, because I still care about you, but I also need some _closure_. Okay, maybe I should have seen the signs, but I just thought . . . I thought you were stressed with work and with your other life. I thought your face was the _only_ thing you were hiding, not – _not a whole other identity_!"

"What do you want me to _say_, MJ?" Spider-Man threw a hand up in frustration. "I'm _sorry_ that I changed. I'm _sorry_ that I hit you; I had no right at all . . . I have no excuse . . . I'm sorry that we lost the baby. . . I'm sorry that we broke up. I'm sorry that I am what I am! Did it contribute to my behaviour? Probably. Do I know when it all began? I honestly couldn't say."

"So you have no idea when you first found out that you preferred men?"

"MJ, I can't have this conversation right now!"

Spider-Man spun around and kicked hard at the ledge. There was anger there unlike any other, enough so that he felt unable to breathe and his chest tighten, but he had learned since that time – that dark time so many months ago – to control his anger and to channel it to healthier places. He couldn't talk about such things whilst Deadpool was missing, because this level of self-analysis was indulgent and trivial. Deadpool was effectively _missing_. He could have been hurt or worse, but here Spider-Man sat arguing with his ex of all people!

He began to pace back and forth before the ledge, as he listened out carefully for the sound of his friend's approach, whilst he cast his eyes about nervously for any sight of Deadpool. The truth was that he felt afraid. There was a time long ago when he would have been nervous for what Deadpool may have done, as everyone knew that the mercenary was a threat to both society and to himself, but things had changed lately. Deadpool was slowly starting to see the good in himself and the hero he could become, so that he was becoming less of a problem to the heroes in the city. He couldn't see Deadpool jeopardising his progress for nothing. That didn't mean people didn't hold grudges, just as it didn't mean people wouldn't hurt him . . .

"You have feelings for him, don't you?" MJ asked.

It was a question that made him stop pacing. He stood midway between the wall and MJ, caught between wanting to leave and wanting to stay, but he owed her an answer. Their relationship had been serious, lasting years and heading towards marriage, and he had _truly_ loved her at one point, even if it wasn't quite how love was supposed to develop or supposed to be, and – as such – he owed her the truth. He looked to her and saw her eyes filled with a slight film of tears, whereas her hair blew all about her, giving her a look that was both wild and natural. In another life . . . in another universe . . . she could have been a model.

They simply absorbed the quiet for a long while, until Spider-Man felt ready to answer his ex-girlfriend and give her an honest answer. The fact that he was being forced to think upon Deadpool hurt, because he still had no idea where the other man had hidden himself away, but he felt impatient to look for him once more. He ran a hand over his head to try and calm himself, before he rested it upon the back of his neck and gave a sigh. Mary Jane cast him a sad smile and turned to look carefully at him.

"I don't know," he said. "I'm attracted to him, yeah."

"Okay, well, that's a start," replied MJ. "So, were you attracted to him back then?"

"I guess so. I would never have acted on it, but I think the attraction was there." He paused and gave a large exhale of breath. "You have to believe me when I say that I would never have so much as _flirted_ with anyone else, not when I was with you, because I'm not that kind of guy, MJ. I think that's why I kept it hidden for so long, because – because it felt like I had a _duty_ to you! I swore we'd always be together! I swore I'd always love you!

"I didn't want to betray you by leaving you, but the longer I hid my feelings then the more they grew! It just came to a point where I couldn't keep them hidden any longer, but I had to hide them in order to stay with you, so every day was like this constant battle. I was fighting myself. I was trying to be straight, because you loved me and my aunt expected me to be this family man and everyone at work thought it was who I was -! It'd be so much easier to fit in and find love, you know? It'd just be so much _easier_. I honestly don't know what to tell you, MJ, because I think I've had feelings for other men for longer than I want to admit.

"I've been trying to hide them for so long. After – after we lost . . . after the accident we started to drift apart . . . I think we were both grieving and we both sort of grew as people, but we weren't the couple that we were before it all started. It felt like – even if I were straight – it'd all be off-kilter anyway, that there was no going back to the way we were. It felt like I might as well come out. It was better for us to both have a clean and honest start, rather than trying to salvage something that was broken beyond repair with lies."

"I think that's the most honest thing you've said to me in months." MJ gave a broken smile and shook her head. "I really appreciate it, Peter, I honestly do. Look, I would like for us to be friends . . . go back to how we were before we became a couple . . . I know it'll be hard at first, but neither one of us should have to go through this alone. How about it?"

"Yeah, I'd like that, but I really can't talk about this right now. I'm sorry."

"You're that worried about Deadpool? Did something happen?"

"I don't know . . . I just know he's never this late."

MJ ran a hand through her hair. It blew about in the breeze, but she caught it and held it in place about her neck with a steady hand. There was something almost unnaturally beautiful about it, even as her face seemed filled with sadness, and he knew that he had done wrong by her and that she deserved much better. He looked away sadly and tried to think about anything other than the unshed tears in her eyes. Deadpool was out there somewhere, maybe hurt, but he could _do_ something about that . . . he couldn't do anything for MJ.

"I remember when I was last that late," she said.

"Okay, now that I _really_ can't talk about," he answered.

He clenched his hands into tight fists, whilst he drew in a deep breath to try and centre himself, but the pain was there as a dark reminder of how he had failed MJ. The unborn child was something that he had wanted more than anything . . . someone to love unconditionally, someone to give him a reason to live . . . he had hoped that it would save their relationship, but then they had lost that child. They lost everything else with it.

"He'll be here soon, don't worry," said MJ.

"I hope so. I really do! He's been through so much and I –"

It was then that Deadpool emerged in the stairwell. He appeared broken and bloody in his usual costume, as if he had endured a brutal beating, but he was unmasked and that unmasking was more worrying than any other part about his appearance. There were deep gashes all along his legs and arms, which tore open his black-and-red clothing and made him appear almost . . . _human_. It was strange that this was a man ashamed by tears, but somehow never ashamed to wear his injuries around almost like a badge of honour.

The one relief was that Deadpool – _Wade – _appeared quite healthy today, so that the scarring was somewhat minimal, but he could see the blisters that were beginning to appear around his mouth and eyes, as well as open sores around his neck. He hoped that they didn't cause Wade any pain, but the older man was dripping blood onto the floor with an astounding rate and he could hear the dripping sound from across the roof. There was an intense anger that coursed through him, because someone had hurt Wade so severely, but also that Wade would have wandered through the city without him in order to _find_ trouble . . . he had been so worried!

"Yo, baby boy! Sorry I'm late!"

Spider-Man took offence at the smile Wade wore. It was bright and wide, almost childlike, although it made the blisters at the side of his mouth crack open just a little, and he seemed to almost not care about the worry he had inflicted at all. There was a greenish-blue bruise around his eye, which sent a shockwave of fury throughout Spider-Man's entire frame, because it meant that someone had hurt Wade. He wanted to hurt them in return, before delivering them to the police . . .

He couldn't stand it any longer, but he couldn't hurt Wade for what may not have been his fault, especially when he was trying to win the older man's _trust_. He felt hot all over and stiff in his muscles, and soon his vision appeared blurred and mottled at the edges. Spider-Man couldn't hurt Wade, not least when he had hurt MJ in the past and _knew_ how traumatic that had been for them both, but the anger wouldn't pass and Wade continued to smile so childishly . . . he just couldn't _stand_ it. He punched the doorframe just to the side of Wade's head. The older man blinked in surprise.

"Hey, I'm not _that_ late," Wade joked.

"You – you -!" Spider-Man drew back his bloody hand. "You were so _late, _Wade! I – I looked all over the city for you! I called the other Avengers asking whether they'd seen you! I thought . . . I thought something _bad_ had happened to you! I thought you were dead!"

"Dude, I _can't_ die! You should know that by now!"

"I – I couldn't _think_ straight!"

Spider-Man raised his fist to look at the damage done. The fabric across his knuckles was torn, whilst the material clung to his skin with the blood. He couldn't ignore the sharp sting, especially when there were some small pieces of brick around his fingers, and he could only hope that no fragments had been caught in the wound. There was a long moment where he just looked down at his hand in surprise at his own anger, but he drew in a deep breath and lowered his hand to his side with resignation.

"Why didn't you let me _know_?"

"Er, hello! You said to meet you here _every night_," said Wade. "I have done! It's not as though I can call you to cancel or postpone! What was I supposed to do, Spidey? Send a messenger pigeon? Send smoke-signals? Your fault, baby boy, not mine!"

"Well, the least you can do is give me an explanation! You might not be able to die, but you can still feel _pain_ . . . you can still _suffer _. . . I was worried about you, alright? I was worried that someone had _taken_ you or _left_ you somewhere and -! Look, just tell me where you were, because I just need to know that -! If anyone hurt you, Wade, just tell me . . . I'll make sure that they see justice and are punished for what they've done."

"It was just a case of mistaken identity, no big deal," Wade answered. "There was this dude all in black and kind of kooky, but he thought I was you and we got into this big bust-out. I tell you one thing though, sweetums, I can look after myself! If anyone hurt me, I'd make it so they'd be peeing sitting down from here on out! Don't worry so much!"

"You're hurt though, Wade. I can see the blood!"

"There's always blood, you know that!"

They stood in an awkward silence. The fact that Wade was so used to blood, so much so that it had become a norm, was more of a concern than anything else. Spider-Man was breathing heavily and quickly, as he tried to still his racing heart and calm down at the sight of his hurt friend, but the fact was that Wade didn't _deserve_ to be hurt . . . it shouldn't _need_ to be the norm. He clenched his fists and fidgeted on his feet. The snow cracked underfoot.

"We need to make sure your wounds are okay," he said.

Wade appeared to flinch at that exclamation, whilst he pulled a rather childish face of confusion and disdain. It was enough to make Peter growl low in the back of his throat, so that he felt compelled to reach out and take a hold of the older man's arm; he needed to obtain a closer look to make sure that it would heal satisfactorily. The only thing was that Wade pulled away as if burned, seemingly uncomfortable or afraid of being touched in that moment, and – when Peter pushed further – he merely laughed and pulled away again.

"I have a healing factor, Spidey! One that makes Wolverine green with envy! Well, maybe _yellow_ with envy, but that has to be the worst colour choice ever, because yellow is _so_ fluorescent and glow-in-the-dark and useless for sneaking around!"

"Yeah? Well, care to tell me what will happen if your wounds heal around a piece of dirt or a bullet or with something inside them?" Spider-Man let out a breath and shook his head. "It'll cause you more pain in the long-run, Wade, trust me. You heal so quickly that it's best if we just leave now, so that we can treat them sooner rather than later. I have a place that I can take you, but it'll have to be at the Avengers Tower . . . can I trust you to be quiet?"

"You sure can! It'll be so awesome! Do you think Stark will –?"

"MJ, can you get home safely?"

He turned to look at Mary Jane, although he regretted it at once. There was a sadness to her that made her smile appear broken, whilst she gazed far across the street to what appeared like the buildings far away, but he knew – he _knew_ – that what she truly looked at was something that neither man could see. There were memories deep in her mind that replaced the sight of grimy architecture and the sound of pedestrians beneath, and in a strange way she seemed almost at peace. He envied how calm she appeared.

"I'll be fine, Spider-Man," she said.

"Are you sure? I can send someone to get you."

"Just go," she replied firmly. "I'll drop your things off tomorrow, at that place you said you'd be. I meant it when I said that I'd like us to be friends, so just remember that you can talk to me any time, but right now . . . I'd rather be alone."

"Okay, if you're sure . . ."

He looked down at the rooftop in shame. The footprints of MJ were so isolated and alone, as if even the literal path she took sought to show how distant they had become, and he wondered whether it would be inappropriate to hold her. He instead drew in a deep breath and walked to the far edge of the ledge, at the opposite end to MJ, where he signalled for Wade to walk over to him and stand behind him. The older man took a running jump and was behind him in a matter of seconds. Spider-Man shot out a web across to a building nearby.

"Time to go, Wade," he said.

The mercenary wasted no time in jumping upon his back, which caused him to let out a grunt of discomfort, but he swung his way through the city regardless of Wade's constant chattering in his ears. It hurt him to see MJ becoming more and more distant as he moved his way through the urban jungle, but the very last glimpse of her was that of her walking away with her head low and a hand upon her face. She was crying. He looked away and felt his eyes water as the wind struck him quite mercilessly in his travels.

They moved quickly and efficiently, although occasionally they would be spotted by spectators below and cheers would rise up, and – by one residential building – a woman even leaned out of her window to call out to them. It didn't take long to reach the Avengers Tower; there was one main benefit to having a place of residence within the tower, which was that the tower itself was publicly known. Spider-Man didn't have to worry about his guests knowing where he really lived, about his family or his secret identity, and he always had somewhere to go whilst still in costume. It took a few minutes more to reach his window.

"Here we are: my floor of Avengers Tower."

He pushed open the window and climbed inside. There were very few windows that opened in the tower, mostly for safety reasons, but a superhero that could scale a building tended to need an opening or two every now and again. He dropped down onto the floor and gave a long sigh, but that became something closer to a groan when Wade refused to let go. It took a moment of the mercenary simply _hugging_ him from behind, with legs wrapped around his waist, before Wade let go and stood like an adult.

"Didn't trust me to take me home, huh?"

"I trust you with my life," said Spider-Man. "I trust you enough to have my back and help me through any predicament, even if I can't trust you to sit still or to refrain from flirting during missions, but that doesn't mean that I don't trust _you_. You mean a lot to me, Wade. You're my friend and I swore to undo the damage that Cable did, even if that means sacrificing a good night's sleep to tend to your wounds."

"You know that guy you introduced me to . . . Benjamin Barker, was it? Anyway, I did some research and I found out his nephew works at the _Bugle._ He's a really hot guy, too! He used to date his colleague, but they broke up . . . she's that girl on the roof, you know?"

"Why don't we just heal your wounds? We don't need to talk about that girl."

"I'm just saying that I bet _Peter_ would trust me with his face."

"Peter would have more sense, I'm sure."

Spider-Man grabbed Wade hard by his wrist. It was difficult to be gentle, but he was angry at the rather explicit implication that Wade _knew_ who the man was behind the mask. There was the worry that his companion may try to use this to his advantage somehow, even if he wasn't really the type for blackmail and respected Spider-Man immensely, but there was still the lingering fear that he may follow Peter or turn up at the _Bugle_ offices. He dragged Wade over to a bed and forced him to sit on the edge. The older man merely laughed.

It took Spider-Man a few minutes to find the first-aid kit, but when he returned it seemed that Wade had taken to playing tic-tac-toe on his thigh. Spider-Man pinched his nose to stave off a stress-induced headache, then knelt between his friend's legs and placed the kit next to him on the bed, before he snatched away the knife and forced it back into Wade's belt. He began to disinfect the cuts around his legs and abdomen, as he ignored the hisses and swears from Wade in the process, but it became difficult to fully concentrate when he could feel the firm muscles beneath his fingertips and held his head only a bare foot or so from the other man's crotch. It felt indecent, but necessary to make sure his wounds healed okay.

"Trust a guy with your life, but not with your face," said Wade.

"Wade, I like you," he said. "I like you more than I should. I want you to be healthy and happy, but I want you to be able to _see_ what I see when I look at you . . . you have so much potential! I brought you here because I trusted you enough to not cause trouble, but Tony will be absolutely peeved when J.A.R.V.I.S. shows him that I let you in here! I'm risking getting in trouble for _you_! Don't think that I don't care, because I care! I care too much!"

"Yeah, well, it's easy for you to say, isn't it? You know my face, my name, my addresses, my contacts, my past, my fears . . . not just the cow phobia, too, but some deep shit . . . you know everything about me, but I can't even see your _face_. It's one thing to make me your charity case, but don't bullshit me. I guess trust goes one-way, eh, _Petey_?"

"Well, why not? Evidently I can't trust you not to _research_ me behind my back."

"Cheap shot, man. Cheap shot."

Wade stood up quickly enough to knock Spider-Man down. He fell backwards and used his hands to brace himself from the fall, before he rolled over onto all fours and climbed onto his feet. It was frustrating that Wade would _act_ that way. It was _Wade_ that had betrayed _his_ trust after all, by evidently looking up his details from his uncle's grave and likely following him after they parted in costume. Frankly, Wade had no reason to be annoyed.

"I'm going," Wade spat. "I can heal on my own."

"Fine. Go then."

He watched as Wade pulled out his Deadpool mask from a pouch. It was unsettling to see and showed that any progress they had made was effectively ruined, because no longer did Wade feel comfortable revealing his true self before Spider-Man. The scars were an intimate and private part of Wade, something that he was deeply self-conscious about, and it was rare that he found someone that he could comfortably expose that part of himself. The trust between them had apparently been broken. Spider-Man bit his lip in guilt.

It was a moment later that Deadpool walked out of the room, uncharacteristically silent, and apparently uncaring that this was the headquarters of the Avengers. There would no doubt that Stark would be aware of Deadpool's presence, not to mention that Deadpool risked being stopped on his way out for questioning or detainment, but he was affected enough by Spider-Man's attitude that he seemed totally uncaring as to any consequences. The last thing that Spider-Man saw was the sight of the door slamming closed behind the black-and-red mercenary, and he couldn't help but stand silently fuming in the now quiet room. He gave a long sigh and realised he couldn't leave things like this. He owed Wade.

"Damn it," Spider-Man snapped.

There was only one way out of the tower for any guests, especially when J.A.R.V.I.S. would be likely monitoring Deadpool's exit down to the very last step and breath, and so he would be directed downstairs to the lobby. He would probably be out of the front doors in a matter of five – maybe ten – minutes tops. If he swung down now, he would probably catch Deadpool just as he set foot onto the street. Spider-Man jumped high and climbed out of his window, before he swung down and shouted out in a desperate hope:

"Wade, wait! Please!"

He swung down incredibly low and spotted sight of Deadpool. The mercenary stopped just a little way from the front doors, having moved _incredibly _quickly, and Spider-Man couldn't help but wonder how Deadpool had already hit the street when he was still swinging down. He hit a rope of webbing about six foot above Deadpool's head, then fell into an upside-down position in front of his friend. It was difficult to hold tight onto the rope, whilst his legs wrapped around the webbing to keep him in place, and it was incredibly disorientating to see Deadpool looking the wrong way round. It didn't help that Deadpool looked _pissed_ either.

"Listen, Petey," Deadpool snapped. "Give me one good reason why I –"

Spider-Man pulled down his mask. There was no way that he could pull it off entirely, not when the city of New York was watching and his identity was secret, but he could pull it down just enough to reveal his mouth to the other man. It caused him to waver under the rhythm of the movement, but he shot out his hand to awkwardly grab at Deadpool's neck and shoulder for balance, before he used the other man's body to pull himself forward and place his lips against the masked man. He kissed him passionately through the mask.

It was awkward and uncomfortable, because frankly an upside-down kiss was nothing like the romantic image that Deadpool painted when he babbled aimlessly about some movie or other that he had seen, and he could taste blood on the mask and the fabric was scratchy at best. He also hated the way his chin seemed to knock against Deadpool's nose. Luckily, the mercenary pulled off his mask and revealed his bare face beneath, so that he was finally able to capture those chapped and dry lips in a _real_ kiss. It was passionate and left him desperate for air, whilst Wade licked at him and then slid his tongue into his mouth, taking dominance of the kiss until Spider-Man was forced to pull away with a sharp gasp for air.

"I'm Peter Parker," he said at last. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Wade."

"You're a lot hotter in person, Petey."

Peter was caught between laughing and groaning, but he instead took to leaning forward and tasting the older man one more time, until he felt an uncomfortable hardening and heard the murmurs of passers-by as they stopped to stare. He sighed and dropped off his webbing into standing position. There was a moment where he felt incredibly dizzy, having just been the wrong side up for a kiss that lasted longer than he had expected, but he managed to focus long enough to see Wade with a huge smile. He pulled down his mask and shook his head.

"Meet me tomorrow at eleven," he said. "_Daytime_, okay?"

"Fine, but I ain't meeting you on no roof."

"_Samantha's Tacos_ fine for you?"

Wade spent a long moment simply looking at Peter with a smile. It was as if he were actually considering saying _no, _which annoyed Peter enough that he was incredibly close to swearing. The fact that he had let Wade's behaviour slide, in terms of finding out his identity, was a sacrifice enough, but that he had just let citizens of New York see Spider-Man kissing _Deadpool_ of all people . . . that should have been enough to _guarantee _him a second date, _without_ the teasing and wait. Deadpool eventually answered him.

"Yeah, let's just hope you ain't ashamed to be seen with me."

"I haven't been ashamed yet," Peter said.

"Just give it time."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **There is some adult content. To skip this, please use ctrl + f, then search for: "Confused?

**Chapter Four**

"Fuck! Right there, Petey."

Wade let out a groan that was almost obscene. No, it _was_ obscene, but Peter realised that he didn't mind in the least. There were breathless and desperate pants of air, as well as long and loud moans of pleasure, and occasionally Wade would let out a harsh curse or whisper out a compliment. He was vocal enough that Peter knew exactly what worked and what didn't. It was easy to judge Wade's reaction from just how high his voice would become, just as he could tell from the hisses when he used too much teeth . . .

It had been difficult at first, because this was something that Peter had only ever experienced as the _recipient _of such pleasures, but eventually he found himself growing more and more used to what was expected of him. He placed a hand on either side of Wade's hips, flat against the wall, whilst his knees rested just above Wade's naked shoulders, and he felt thankful that his abilities allowed him to do this upside-down. It helped immensely. He couldn't help other than to choke when he had tried knelt before Wade, but this way the curve of Wade's member worked _with _his throat rather than _against _it. It made it so much easier.

There were a few moments when he would have to pull back to catch his breath, as Wade was rather longer than he expected. He hated each time the head pressed against the back of his throat, triggering a gag reflex that he wished he lacked, and – each time he spluttered and retched – Wade would laugh kindly. The older man would reach down to stroke Peter's hair gently, which reassured him more than he liked to admit, and he would continue on with as much enthusiasm as when he started. Peter let out a moan.

He tried to take Wade in deep to swallow around his head, but it was difficult when he found himself so sensitive and gagging. Wade was rather long with a sharp curve to his length, whilst even _that_ was covered in sores and scabs, which made Peter glad that he left the top-half of his face covered by his mask. He had nearly winced on seeing it, whilst it gave the thick shaft an unfortunate taste and texture . . .

"That's good, just like that!"

Wade's left hand – separated from its partner in Peter's hair – stroked slowly up his back, where it came to rest on his buttock. It squeezed and massaged in a way that was oddly arousing. Peter gave a sigh and fidgeted to let his partner know that he didn't consent to being molested in such a manner, especially when he remembered how Wade had earlier tried to lower his shorts to use his tongue in a _very _unhygienic manner. Peter used his teeth to scrape alongside Wade's length in warning, which caused the older man to jerk forward with a hiss of discomfort, and Peter gagged a little in response.

The taste of pre-come was heavy on his tongue, which was as unpleasant as it was erotic. It left him with a heavy respect for both MJ and Gwen, as he felt the blood rush to his head and his limbs begin to feel sore from his position, and soon he felt his jaw begin to ache in an incredibly uncomfortable manner. He wondered how the women in his life endured the discomfort, or whether it was something they grew used to over time, but the arousal he felt at servicing Wade in such a way surprised him.

"So close, baby boy," Wade said. "Spit or swallow?"

"Swallow?"

Peter drew in a staggered breath. Wade was busy mouthing at his clothed erection, hidden behind the material of his costume, and it was becoming harder and harder to avoid his touches and kisses. He could feel the other man licking him through the cloth, as well as sucking at random points along his length, and it did nothing to help his erection. The truth was that he didn't want Wade fondling his buttocks or teasing his member, as he still felt awkward about the whole thing . . . he liked Wade and wanted Wade, but he just wasn't ready to let Wade reciprocate yet . . . he still needed to come to terms with their relationship.

He felt embarrassed by the slurping noises that he occasionally made, although Wade merely gripped his head tighter and thrust harder every time he heard them, and soon they were moving in something akin to a frantic rhythm. Wade was letting out staccato moans of pleasure, whilst thrusting into his mouth, and soon both hands came up to clasp onto Peter's buttocks as he pressed his lips breathlessly against Peter's covered length. It was a few seconds later that he came. Peter choked on the awful taste.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"T-that was – you – I don't even -!"

"So good, Petey," murmured Wade. "Best ever."

Peter used his feet by Wade's head to kick himself off the wall. He landed in a crouch on the floor, where he felt the come dripping out of the corner of his mouth, and – when he reached up a hand to wipe it away – he realised Wade had also came on his face . . . he had pulled away too soon when he started to choke. He sighed and wiped away the excess with a tissue that sat nearby, and then turned around to face Wade.

"It was clumsy," he muttered.

"It was perfect," Wade replied. "You must have had some amazing blow jobs to copy from, because that thing with your tongue in my slit? _Damn_. You even gave my balls a good fondling too, without being too firm, plus that thing where you –"

"W-Wade! Stop! Enough! This is – it's just –! It's _embarrassing_!"

"Ha! I wish I could see you blush."

There was an awkward silence as Peter pulled down his mask. He had left it on during their sexual act, and he had yet to fully remove it in front of Wade. The mask felt sticky against his skin, where the sweat and few spots of semen clung to it, and he drew in a deep breath as he stood up to face his partner. It was painful to move, as he could feel his erection beg for attention through his costume. He knew that he could ask Wade to reciprocate, but that would mean exposing his face and his body . . . he just couldn't do that.

Wade slid down the wall rather sated. He wore nothing except a smile, as his member began to slowly return to its regular state, and his body was covered in sores and blisters. There was a part of Peter that felt incredibly grateful that his partner had a reprieve from his pain, but he hated the sight of him looking so unhealthy and so broken. Peter missed those times in which Wade looked almost perfectly well, so that there were hardly any aches and pains at all, but he was certain – that as soon as the afterglow wore off – he would return to the constant pain and feeling less than himself. It was possible that he still _felt_ pain, but that the act of oral sex merely distracted him temporarily _from_ the pain. Peter sighed to himself.

He looked about his room and sat upon the edge of the bed, where he willed his erection away and waited for it to wilt. The room in the Avengers Tower was impersonal and somewhat sterile looking, as it was used solely as a place to crash when missions ran on for too long or when he was unable to return home for some reason, and all his personal possessions now sat a few miles away in the home of his aunt. It wasn't a place where he wanted to be intimate with Wade for the first time, but – after several weeks of what could tentatively be called 'dating' – Peter could think of nowhere better.

"Sure you don't want me to return the favour, Petey?"

"I'm sure, Wade," he said firmly. "I don't think I'm ready for that."

"Dude, you just blew me upside-down against a wall," Wade laughed. "I think you're _way_ past the point of playing the coy virgin! You know the whole point of a partnership is give-and-take, right? You blow me and I blow you. That should be the spideypool motto!"

"I know, but it's not that simple. I still don't – wait, _what_? Don't turn out names into some portmanteau! We were lucky that we didn't make the papers with that kiss, but if you start acting as if our team-up is something more than what it is -! People will _know_ we're a couple. I'm not ready for that, Wade. I have really strong feelings for you, which I'd like to explore, but _not_ with the world watching and analysing our every move. I need to take this slowly."

"That's rich," snapped Wade. "You telling me you want to take it seriously when you _just_ had my dick in your mouth? Look, I'm used to being the one-night stand or the pity fuck, even been the bit on the side for a while, so if that's what this is then just tell me, alright? You don't want anyone to know about us, but you want to support me and to be intimate . . . seems fucking hypocritical. I should love myself, but I shouldn't expect _you_ to love me?"

"That – that isn't it at all! This – _all of this –_ may be second nature to you, but it's all new to me, okay? I've never been in a relationship with a man before. I get nervous when you try to reciprocate and I'm trying to work out everything that I feel _as_ I feel it. I'm just –"

"Confused? Shit, at least Cable respected me enough not to wear a _mask_ to fuck me."

"Wade, I _do_ respect you!"

Wade stood up with great purpose. It was hard to imagine a naked man looking remotely intimidating, but somehow he managed it almost perfectly. He rolled back his shoulders and used his height to his full advantage, whilst he clenched his hands to make the large muscles of his arms bulge and strain, and his brown eyes locked dangerously with Peter's. Peter sat in silent for a long moment, as he counted the open sores that ran along those limbs and up to the mercenary's face, but then the older man turned around. He walked away.

"Wade? _Wade!_"

He tried not to look down at Wade's buttocks, although he had to admit that they were perfectly shaped and incredibly well toned, and he felt a stab of awkwardness as he realised that with MJ it had always been her breasts and legs that he admired. It was all so _different_ with Wade. He _wanted _to stare at his behind as he walked away, but that was the kind of look that would get a man beaten up in the changing rooms, and that wasn't to mention that it still felt _wrong_, even if it felt _natural_. He bit his lip to refrain from chastising himself.

Peter stood up to follow Wade, even as he remained still for a moment, and watched as his partner strode into the _en suite_ to the side of the room. MJ had always appreciated her space when she walked away like Wade just did, but he couldn't judge one relationship by the standards of the last, and yet he didn't want to make matters worse either. He would need to _learn_ what Wade needed and wanted. Peter walked to the bathroom door, which he heard click locked when his hand touched the cold handle. There was a sound of bare feet slapping against stone inside. Peter let his head rest against the door and simply listened.

The shower inside came to life. It was almost a relief to hear, although it was just one more barrier between the two of them, and yet he knew that Wade would have to come outside at _some_ point, because he had left his clothing strewn about the floor outside. He remembered well how Wade had described showering after he had been used by Mary, just as he remembered how Wade had described the feeling of being dirty and used, and he feared that the older man perhaps felt that same way now . . . used.

"Wade, I'm sorry! Can I come in?"

'_Can't hear you, sweetums!'_

Peter knew well that Wade could hear him. The bathroom was specifically designed so as not to be soundproof, just in case an emergency occurred whilst the occupant was using the facilities. It was possible to hear both alarms and loud voices from inside, even when music was playing or the shower was being used, and – whilst that meant any privacy was merely an illusion – it added to the sense of safety and gave anyone from within a chance to react.

"Okay, I'm going to head into the communal area! Why don't you come out when you're done? The other Avengers know about us, so it won't be a problem! I think it's best that we talk about this. I _do_ respect you, but I think -! Just come out when you're ready!"

'_That could be a damn long while, baby boy!'_

"I'll wait forever, if I have to!"

There was a part of him that regretted getting into a relationship so soon. It was clear that Wade held a lot of issues and baggage, but Peter struggled to juggle both his partner's issues and his own, as he could feel himself breaking under the weight of his new identity. He drew in a sharp breath and lightly smacked his open palm against the door, whilst he listened to the sound of Wade's rather out-of-tune singing, and after a while it became clear that his partner had no intention of leaving the sanctity of the bathroom. Peter decided to give him a break.

He touched the door one last time, before he headed out of his suite and into the hall. The communal area was a few floors below, which meant that he would have to leave Wade alone for the time being, but he trusted the other man not to leave without saying something first. It was quite cold in the hallway, although not nearly as cold as the snow-covered city outside, and Peter made a mental note to adjust the AC on his way to the elevator. He removed his mask and threw it angrily to side-table on the way down, which sat underneath a painting of Captain America. He wondered what Tony had been thinking when he decorated the floor.

The elevator opened to what sounded like an AC/DC song that played far too loud for Peter's taste, but he ignored it and let it take him down to the communal area. It took only a few moments more for him to find the kitchen. There was an impressive aura that amazed him every time he walked into the room, simply as he had grown up in a way that was by no means as decadent or as privileged as Tony lived, but he ignored it to focus instead on the room's occupants. Steve sat comfortably at the table, whilst Tony stood near the stove.

Tony appeared to be trying to chisel off some sort of orange substance from a frying pan, whilst he leaned with his back to the work-surface, and meanwhile Steve nursed a cup of coffee in one hand as he read the paper in another. They were dressed in civilian clothing, which made Peter feel somewhat awkward, but he slid into a chair at the dining table opposite Steve as quietly as possible. Tony looked up and waved to him with the spatula.

"Hey, Peter! How's it going?"

"Bad," he said. "Do you ever have one of those weeks where whatever you do just fails spectacularly? I just keep screwing up so badly! People _died_ because of me. My engagement _failed_ because of me. Now my relationship with Wade is unravelling because of _me_!"

"The story of my life, kid," said Tony. "Want a drink? It sounds like you need a drink."

"No, I _don't_ need a drink. I _don't_ drink. I just need . . . _I don't know_."

"Well, I need a drink. I'm too sober for a talk like this."

"Thanks, Tony. Thanks."

Tony saluted with his spatula, before he then took one confused glance at the frying pan, which – in a matter of seconds – was added to a rather disturbing pile of dishes in the sink. The older man then made his way across the room to the liquor cabinet, where he began to make a selection of drinks that made Peter wince to see, but the obvious drinking problem was something that was better suited for Pepper or Bruce to address. Steve instead broke the silence by flipping his newspaper in two and placing it politely facedown on the table.

"Want to start from the top, Peter?" Steve asked.

"It's Wade," said Peter. "I think Wade thinks that I'm ashamed of him."

"Where would he get an idea like that? Wade is a good man, one that I've had the pleasure to work with a few time, but I know he can be . . . difficult. You show Wade far more gratitude and kindness than any other person I've met. He's lucky to have you."

"Yeah, well, I don't really want to go into details." Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, I didn't mean that to sound as rude as it did, but it's just -! I don't even know where to begin, you know? I can see _why_ he would take it all so personally, but it's _really_ not personal at all! I don't think I've once taken off my mask around him . . . I won't let him reciprocate physically . . . I know why he'd think I'm ashamed of him, but –"

"Let me guess," Tony said. "It's not him, it's you?"

"Cliché as it sounds? Yeah."

Tony downed a drink in his hands, before he slammed the tumbler onto the cabinet and made another, then he walked over to the table and took a seat near to Steve. There was a flush to his cheeks that made it clear that he had probably been drinking for a while now, as well as a slight sway to his body that made him seem as if he danced to an invisible tune, and even as he sat down there was a certain lack of awareness. Tony was infamous for his reputation as a playboy and hedonist, but he seemed to be . . . deteriorating lately.

There was a sharp look from Steve. The worry was clear, but he also was a man that knew how to prioritise and that there was a time for everything. If he considered confronting Tony, he would do it only once he knew that Peter was okay. Steve folded his hands together and placed them within his lap, whilst he turned to give the young Avenger his full attention, and – as he looked to Peter – he smiled warmly in a way that only he seemed to ever manage. It was a smile that spoke of infinite patience and unconditional support, which Peter only usually saw on his aunt. It made him feel somewhat relieved to see.

"You know that it sounds like you don't trust him?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, I know," said Peter. "It's just . . . I always thought I was straight, but – even when I started to suspect – I never so much as _looked_ at another guy! I guess I was worried that once I let myself feel even a _little _attraction that I wouldn't be able to stop . . . that once this thing was out that I would have no control over it . . . I guess it's that same fear that Bruce has whenever he feels the 'other guy' slip to the surface. It was too dangerous to acknowledge.

"Now? Now I don't know . . . I really, _really_ like Wade. I admire him for his courage and confidence, just as I love how passionate and sensitive he can be, and I want nothing more than for him to feel _good_ about himself. He's suffered so much, but he deserves to feel like a hero! He _is_ a hero; even if no one else acknowledges what he does . . . he's a good guy. I just don't know how to _deal_ with those feelings, Steve! I look at him and he's physically attractive to me, but I keep feeling that those feelings are . . . _wrong. _I listen to him and I feel that I'm falling in love with him, but I keep thinking that something feels . . . _unnatural_. I want to just be with him. I want to just _feel_, but something holds me back!"

"You probably should have dealt with that before you got with him," said Tony.

"Gee, you think?" Peter snapped.

Peter shot a dangerous glare to Tony. He could only think about how Wade was alone in that shower upstairs, probably thinking the worst about himself, and it was all due to how Peter had so selfishly began something that he couldn't quite understand. There was love there, most definitely, but his feelings were so _confused_. It was just unfortunate that his own confusion had led to inadvertently confirming Wade's worst fears, which was the complete opposite of all that Peter intended. He looked away from Tony and sighed.

"Just saying," Tony muttered.

"Yeah, well, _don't_ just say," snapped Peter back. "I don't know what it is, okay? I love being with him, just as I love . . . well . . . being physical with him. It makes me feel good, almost complete . . . like this is how things _should_ be. I've been missing something from my life, which is someone that I'm attracted to and someone that I love, but this -! This feeling gets in the _way_. I don't know how to make it stop, but something in me clenches in terror any time I think I'm close to being wanted in return. That can't be right, can it?"

"Peter, I think I understand your position," said Steve. "This century is new to me, but there's one thing that remains common throughout every generation: the young believe that their problems are separate from the generations of the past. This century appears to believe that it has a monopoly on sexuality, as if it somehow invented homosexuality, but we had men like that back in the war, too. I worked with them, ate with them and spoke with them."

"So how did they deal with it?" Peter asked. "What did they do?"

Steve looked with slight annoyance to Tony. The other man had taken to leaning on the table with his elbow, whilst his hand clenched into a loose fist and was pressed against his pursed lips, and he was gazing at Steve with half-lidded interest. He was drunk. It wasn't an unfamiliar sight, but it was probably very distracting for Steve to speak when his friend looked like he was almost mocking him with a feigned interest. It was made even more difficult by the sound of the dripping tap from behind Tony, as well as the noise of laughter in the background as Sam appeared to train against Natasha.

There was a long moment of Tony making noises of acknowledgement, even as neither man spoke a single word, whilst outside the wind blew so wildly that snow was quickly beginning to build against the large window panes. The sky outside was a vast expanse of grey and white, with hardly any natural light seeping through the snowstorm, and Peter felt cold simply looking at the cityscape. He tried to keep eye contact with Steve and listened.

"Well," said Steve, "first you have to understand that it was a different time."

"I know," Peter replied. "I remember learning about it during school. There were countries that were more liberal, where it was okay to be gay or black or different in some way, but I heard that things were pretty bad here . . . still are, if you think about it."

"I think that was part of the problem. There was a stigma against being gay, which led to a lot of internalised homophobia. A lot of the men hated themselves for feeling the way they did; I remember one man that almost killed himself over it, although in time he became close 'friends' with a fellow soldier. I think they passed themselves off as 'brothers' after a point, once they left the forces, but this was before I joined. I remember what he said to me.

"He used to say that he felt no shame in giving out pleasure, because that way he could fool himself into thinking that it was something under his control. It was easy to make other people feel good, whether emotionally or physically, but when _he_ felt good then he couldn't deny the inevitable truth. The reaction he felt was because of a _man_, which meant that he liked _men_, and that thought frightened him. He preferred to take the more a more detached approach. Clinical, even. He could pretend that he wasn't gay, that way. There was a time where he even dated women, desperate to prove that he could control it. He couldn't."

"What are you trying to say, Steve? Do you mean that I'm like that friend of yours? I – I _know_ what I am, but I just -! I don't know . . . maybe you're right . . . I love Wade and making him feel good, but every time he touches me I feel like I'm doing something wrong. It's like a huge reminder that I _am_ gay and I feel _panicked. _I'm not ashamed of him, I'm not."

"No, you're just ashamed of yourself," mumbled Tony.

"Oh, _now_ you chime in," Peter snapped.

He shot a dark glare to Tony. The older man merely raised a hand in a mock gesture of surrender, before he made to down his drink. There was an intense feeling of second-hand embarrassment when Peter saw that it was already empty, more so when he saw the look of disappointment on his role-model's face and heard him ask J.A.R.V.I.S. pointlessly for another, and even Steve looked pityingly upon his friend. Peter wondered what had triggered this kind of relapse, but he couldn't bring himself to ask.

They sat in silence for a long while, but the truth was that there was a very real reason why Peter felt so annoyed by Tony's comment: it was true. He _did_ feel ashamed of himself. The feelings that he felt were so complex that he couldn't begin to unravel them, but he knew that he felt a pang of fear at coming out to his aunt, at explaining to her just why his engagement with MJ had been called off and that he was now dating a man. It wasn't that she was homophobic in the least, but just that it felt . . . _wrong_ somehow. It would be a surprise to many. It would also mean accepting that he _wasn't _normal, as well as that he felt feelings for Wade that many would argue he _shouldn't_ feel. He hated himself for being this way.

It was a hard truth to bear. He felt an element of guilt, because he prided himself on his tolerance and understanding, but yet when it came to _himself_ . . . he felt a hypocrite. Peter looked up to see that Steve wore an expression close to pain. There was a smile to his lips, but it was tainted by the way his eyes were cast down and seemed unfocussed, and there was something close to understanding there and yet somehow far from it. It was then that Steve looked to Peter directly and nodded his head in acknowledgement of something unspoken.

"Have you spoken to Wade about it?" Steve asked.

"No," replied Peter. "He's going through so much, it wouldn't be fair."

"I think you should. You're expecting him to trust in you completely, enough that you can work through his issues and make him feel better, but relationships are about give-and-take and _trust_ is also about give-and-take. He'll trust you more, if he feels that _you_ can trust in him in return. You should start off by showing him your face. Let him _see_ just who he's trusting his body and heart to, but then tell him how you feel. Let _him_ help _you_."

"I – I'm supposed to be _strong,_ Steve. I'm the one that's meant to fix things and put things right. I'm supposed to be the hero and I'm supposed to be the one that rescues people. If I let him see me at my weakest, it's like I'm – I'm back to being this scrawny kid . . . plus, what's to like about that? No one likes me as Peter Parker, but as _Spider-Man –_"

"Spider-Man is just as much you as Captain America is me."

"I forget you were just some kid once, too."

Steve let out a low laugh. It was oddly comforting, even as he heard cheers from afar that signalled whatever sparring match had occurred was now officially over, and it wouldn't be long until they had company. Peter almost wished that they could continue to be alone, just for a little while, as Steve also knew what it was like to have once been the weakling and the overlooked, and he knew how addictive a new persona could become. No one else understood those kinds of feelings like Steve understood them.

"We're told a lot about who we're supposed to be," said Steve.

"I know. It's like every day I'm told that I'm supposed to be something other than myself," Peter answered sadly. "I'm judged both as Spider-Man and as Peter, but nothing ever seems quite right and I'm always trying to be someone else. I just want to be _me_, but . . ."

"I guess it was easier for me. The people I loved still loved me even as that greenhorn without an ounce of strength." Steve laughed sadly. "I always knew that I could be strong, even if I didn't quite know _how_ to be, but with you . . . you had a tough life, Peter. You were always trying to be the perfect nephew or the perfect student, now you're the perfect employee and the perfect hero . . . no wonder you doubt everything that you are.

"Wade never knew you as just 'Peter', so I can understand why you would be scared. You're worried whether he'll like your face, whether he'll still be attracted to you, but you're also scared that – if you let him in – you will lose a part of yourself. You treat your homosexuality like Bruce treats the Hulk, but the difference is this _isn't_ a mutation or something wrong with you, but it _is_ a part of you and a part of who you are. You need to let yourself just _be _yourself. It sounds like Wade is trying to find himself, too. He's hidden so long behind a fake smile and a bad mask, but maybe – _together – _you can work out who you both are."

"What if I'm not right for him? What if he doesn't want me for who I am?"

"Once you both know _who _you are, you find someone that'll love _you_."

"And if that person isn't Wade?"

There was a heavy and low sigh from Steve, which made Peter wonder whether he had said something wrong in some way. The sky outside was beginning to slowly turn black, as if it served to remind him of how much time had passed, and he began to think of how he needed to get back to Wade and how Wade was likely finished by now. It would be nice to watch the sunset with him, like they used to do in costume on a random ledge after a team-up, but something told him that even the encroaching blacks and reds wouldn't distract from their inevitable conversation. He was lost in thought, until Steve said:

"If it isn't Wade, what will it change?"

"Everything, wouldn't it? We'd have to break, wouldn't we?"

"Yeah, but you still would have the memories of being happy together," said Steve. "You'd still have learned from one another, just as you'll still have grown as people, and you can always remain as friends or one day come back together. Just give yourselves a chance."

"He's upstairs in the shower right now. He doesn't want to talk to me."

"He just needs some time. Tell him what you told me."

"If you think it'll help . . ."

Peter drew in a sharp intake of breath. The lights above were being slowly turned on by the automatic controls, although they would begin dim and slowly get brighter over time, and at the moment it gave the kitchen an eerily cosy atmosphere. He could barely remember his biological parents, but sometimes – when he sat before Steve like he did – he wondered if this was how it felt like to have a family. He pushed back his stool and prepared to stand.

The sight of Tony somewhat swaying gave him pause, because clearly the consequences of repressing emotions were a lot more damaging than the risks of discussing them. He never before gave much thought to why he didn't want Wade to reciprocate, but now he had put his feelings into words they felt so _real_, and suddenly he could see just what the real problem was and what was needed to be done. He stood up slowly and tried to ignore the way that the room felt suddenly so much colder, whilst he tried to remember where he left his mask.

"I didn't even know I was this messed up," Peter joked.

"You aren't the only one," mumbled Tony.

They shared an almost meaningful look. There was darkness to Tony's eyes that spoke of a past that seemed incompatible with his reputation as a playboy billionaire, but there was something there that he was drinking to forget. Tony was trying to slowly kill a part of himself, much in the way that Peter tried to repress that part of him that liked men, and perhaps in Tony he saw a part of himself. Tony stood up in turn, but he struggled to stand straight and staggered backwards a few steps, before he caught himself on the counter.

"Everyone's got problems, kid," said Tony. "Be thankful you have someone willing to share the burden. Let me tell you: I can't stand Wade. The guy is annoying and insane and pretty egotistical – _don't look at me like that! _Still, he makes you feel good, he's a keeper."

"I think it's time you had a lie down," said Steve.

Steve stood up and hooked an arm around Tony. It was strange how men so polar opposite could become such good friends, but it was good to know that Tony had more people willing to share his burden than he assumed. Steve cast a sympathetic eye to Peter and nodded over at the elevator, before he gave a supportive smile and nodded his head to give silent support. It was enough to make Peter smile and feel less alone. He appreciated the small kindness.

"Go talk to Wade, Peter."

"Thanks, Cap'."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"Wade? Is that you?"

The window was left purposely open. It was a huge sacrifice on Peter's part, as the snowstorm that ravaged the city had reached its peak. There was virtually no way that any civilians would be outside during this weather, not unless there was a valid emergency or they were less than upright in the first place, and the fog of snow was so dense that Peter found himself unable to see so much as across the road to the houses opposite. He kept his eyes on the open window, with its left pane slid to the right, and hoped it wasn't an intruder.

There was no warning from his spider-senses, which meant that there was likely no threat to his person or to his aunt, but he felt a nervous stab inside his gut regardless. Peter drew in a staggered breath and brought his hands to his mouth. He blew warmly upon them, although it did little to help with the large breeze blowing through the window. There was already a good half-an-inch worth of snow upon his windowsill, whilst his bed held a sprinkling of white dust that made it appear as if it were part of the quilt's design, and he could see his breath frosty in front of him with every exhalation. He hoped that the snow stopped soon.

It was then that he saw Wade grab purchase onto the sill, although he let go initially from the cold snow on his bare fingers, and – as he nearly fell down a story – he was forced to quickly regain his grip and throw himself into the room. He landed on Peter's bed, which caused the younger man to purse his lips together and try to hold back a groan of protest. It seemed that Wade didn't care that his muddy boots were all over the clean sheets, let alone when he jumped down and left footprints over Peter's carpet. Peter drew in a heavy sigh.

"Glad you could make it," he snapped.

"What can I say?" Wade asked. "I'm late, but I think I have good reason! Have you _seen_ the snow out there? It gives a whole new meaning to the term 'blue balls'! Seriously, I think mine may have fell out somewhere on Main Street. It's so damned cold, baby boy!"

"It won't get any warmer with the window open. Take off your shoes, too."

"You're so bitchy for a spider!"

Peter ran a hand over his masked face. This was already going worse than he expected, although that was still far better than it could have gone. He had chosen to wear civilian clothes that evening, which – so far – Wade either didn't notice or didn't care about, and the only part of his costume was the mask that concealed his face. The hooded top gave him little warmth and his jeans were tattered and old, but it still seemed a big improvement on Wade.

The older man was dressed in a baggy pair of trousers and an old t-shirt, with a light jacket thrown over the top, and the only real protection from the weather was a torn baseball cap and a large pair of red boots. It was surprise he hadn't _frozen_ to death in his journey. Peter's aunt lived quite far in the suburbs, so – with public transport down – he knew that his partner would have had to travel for a good hour or more on foot. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, as he cursed Wade's lack of personal safety or awareness.

"You can borrow a jumper and a coat when you go," he muttered.

"Aw, it's cute how you always put me first." Wade crashed onto the bed. "Still, did you really ask whether it was _me_ coming in through the window? Dude, it'd have to be shittiest burglar in the world to try and break in that way in this weather! Huh, then again, if he were _that_ shit he just _might_ answer you . . . don't go arguing with any burglars, Petey! I guess we better close that window and stop them coming in, right?"

"I just told you to -! You know what? It doesn't matter. I asked you to come over here and through my window for a reason, but that reason _wasn't_ so you could traipse mud and snowy water all over my floor and bed! If you don't take off your shoes, you can just leave."

"You know how hard it was for me to come here? I'm close to leaving already."

"Okay, fine, but just -! Look, this _isn't_ my house, so can you –"

"Fine, fine. Hold on, sweetums."

Peter watched as Wade stretched out on his bed, before he lifted his legs and began to undo the laces and buckles on his boots. It took him an extraordinary amount of time, so that it was almost like watching an artist at work, but eventually the boots came off and were flung separately across Peter's bedroom. One landed by his desk, whilst another hit his door and left a muddy footprint against the wood. He was almost _certain_ that the older man was causing trouble on purpose, as if he were still bitter over their last argument.

"This is my aunt's house, Wade," he snapped.

"I'll clean up later. Relax."

The look on Wade's face made it clear that he had no intentions of cleaning up the mud. He didn't quite pout, but his lips were pressed into a tight line almost reminiscent of one. There were a few sores around his mouth and the corner of his eyes, although he otherwise looked perfectly healthy save for a few light scars akin to stretchmarks, and his brown eyes stared at Peter's ceiling with a curious interest. It used to be enjoyable for Peter as a child to look upwards like that, with the ceiling painted with glow-in-the-dark stars in the shape of his favourite constellations, and – in all this time – his aunt had never redecorated his room.

It meant a lot to him that she would keep it forever as his space. There were posters on the wall of the solar system and wild animals, and the books on his shelf contained more study-guides and textbooks than any novels. He could almost pretend that he was still that studious schoolboy whilst he stayed with her, without any concerns save for evading the bullies and doing his homework, and he felt _safe_ that way. That changed with Wade's presence, as now he simply worried what Wade would _think_ to this side of him.

"Last week . . ."

"Don't worry about it," muttered Wade. "You spent _hours_ talking about it. I get it."

"I know," replied Peter. "I _also_ know that every day since then that you've been . . . _distant_. I – I get it, okay? You deserve better. It isn't enough to _tell_ you that I trust you, so I figured that this would be the best place to . . . well . . . show you."

"Look, Petey, I get this is hard for you. It was good to hear how you felt, but it don't change the fact that you can't _trust _me. You gave me the address to your aunt's house, but so what? I could have found that on my own! Hell, I _did_ find it on my own, right about the time I staked out the _Bugle _and found out all about your ex, too. If you think that's going to impress me, it isn't. I just want to know what we are: a couple, fuck-buddies . . . a couple of fuck-buddies?"

"For crying out loud, Wade! Just listen to me!"

"I mean, I'm all for the latter, but –"

"Wade, shut up! _Please_!"

Peter grabbed a cushion from the chair by his desk. It had been put there to give him some height as a teenager, but now it served only to make his long hours working more comfortable. He threw it hard at Wade, as he hoped to catch the older man's attention, but Wade merely batted it away with a lazy hand and then went back to lazing about on the bed, where he continued to stare petulantly at the ceiling. Peter gave a long exhale of breath and marched to the edge of the bed, where he stood between Wade's parted legs.

"In case you haven't noticed . . . I'm only wearing my mask."

There was a childish and petulant groan from Wade, before he sat up and rested his hands on either knee. The fact that Peter stood where he did meant that both hands touched lightly upon the sides of his legs, whilst Wade's hunched back put his head only a few inches from Peter's clothes groin, and – quite frankly – this attempt at formality from the mercenary only added to the intimacy between them. Wade sighed and said with a somewhat devilish tone:

"Trust me! If you were only wearing a mask, we wouldn't be having this conversation!"

"Don't wink, Wade! This is serious! Look, _this_ is what I wanted to show you."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever it is then –"

Peter removed his mask.

He knew that Wade had seen him from a distance, perhaps even photos of him, but this was the first time that he had showed Wade his true face. It was impossible to look Wade in the eyes, so he cast his gaze across the corner of the room to the pillow on his bed, whilst he nervously ran a hand through his hair mussed up by the mask that covered him just moments previous. Peter wondered what his partner would see. He looked good for his age, but he was remarkably average in appearance save for some toned muscles and youthful skin.

It was hard not to feel self-conscious. He knew that there must have been _something_ attractive to him, at least beyond his body, because he had heard compliments constantly from Mary Jane during their relationship together, but he couldn't help but feel inferior to Wade. There was no denying that he didn't have the classical features of Steve, just as he lacked the rugged looks of Tony, and frankly Wade held a rather notorious reputation for being something of a serial monogamist. He had been with men like _Cable_. Cable may have been many things – abusive, controlling, single-minded – but he was certainly a lot more handsome than most, not to mention he lacked the 'nerdy' side that had left Peter bullied and abused for the better part of a decade. He felt _vulnerable_ by exposing his face.

He knew Wade wouldn't use his insecurity to hurt him, as Skip had done. He knew that Wade wouldn't mock or belittle him, as Flash was wont to during school. That wasn't to say that Wade would be attracted to him, or that he wouldn't be put off by Peter being . . . well . . . _Peter. _He wondered whether Wade could love someone that had a master's in biophysics, that designed his own web-shooters, and that spent his free time hidden out in Tony Stark's laboratory. Peter felt his heart race a little too quickly. This was his first relationship with a man, but he hated that this could be his first break-up with a man, just for being _himself_.

"I didn't think you wanted me to see your face," said Wade.

Peter blinked away the unshed tears. He would readily admit that he loved the anonymity that his mask brought, as well as the ability to hide his emotions and to speak more freely than he ever did as just Peter. He could find confidence behind the mask, which he lacked when he spoke as himself and not as the hero he had carved for the city, and suddenly he could feel his palms sweating and his mouth run dry. How _could_ Wade love him? Peter had been the cause of his uncle's death, as well as Gwen's death, and he was sure that –

"You're pretty quiet, baby boy," said Wade.

"It's the mask," replied Peter. "I can be someone else when I wear it. I'm _Spider-Man_ then, so no one judges me on me, and if I say or do anything stupid then people pass it off as just the guy in the suit. I'm a lot more free to just be me, but . . . that's why it's easier to be confident . . . I – I guess it's hard to explain. I could explain it easily to Steve, because he _knows_ me as Peter, but you're just meeting me for the first time really, and –"

"It's funny how you babble in either disguise." Wade laughed and appeared to smile. "I can see why you'd be nervous, seeing as you rely so much on being Spidey! I can relate! It's _way_ easier to be confident in my Deadpool guise! It's different with you, though, because you're my hero! I can smile around you, even without my mask, because you're _you. _Did you think you'd stop being you, if I saw your face? They call me crazy!"

"Well, _yeah_, I thought that! I – I never really gave you a chance to get to know me. Don't tell me that you haven't noticed the giant poster of the galaxy on my wall, or the telescope by the window, or the physics books on my desk! I – I don't want this to be over before it's begun. I was worried about _me_, but also about my face, because –"

"Hey, maybe you want to look at me, baby boy?"

"Why? What difference will it make?"

Peter looked down to Wade. It was difficult to say quite what he expected, but it certainly hadn't been the bright and sincere smile of the older man. The sores on the corners of Wade's mouth cracked a little under the movement, whilst his eyes crinkled in the corners, and it was then that the mercenary stood up with a confidence that Peter envied. It nearly knocked him off balance, as he stood so close to his partner during the move, but Wade shot out his hands and caught Peter by the upper arms. He held them impossibly tight.

The window behind them was still open, which allowed a flurry of snow to appear before Wade, and he had an impossibly handsome glow about him. Peter looked up nervously to meet the other man's gaze, unable to run or to move under the strong hold. There was a softness to Wade's eyes that seemed alien on a man so used to violence and death, as well as how he carried himself with a sense of innate power, so that his posture was perfect and his muscles tight to the point it seemed he was on the verge of action. He held Peter so close to him that the younger man found his hands trapped and pressed between their chests.

"You have no idea how hot you are," said Wade.

Wade leaned down a few inches to kiss him. It was enough to make Peter lose his breath, as he felt a small swell of both pride and surprise that Wade would _want_ to kiss him. He felt the other man's lips chaste against his, before the kiss became something much deeper, and soon he found himself battling for dominance against his partner. There were a few long moments as they tasted one another and held one another, before Peter won the fight and let his tongue explore Wade's mouth. He tasted a hint of blood, which nearly made him wince, but there was also a roughness to the lips and a hint of spice that reminded him that this was _Wade._

They continued to kiss for what seemed like a mere few seconds, but when Peter opened his eyes he caught sight of the clock on his wall. It was clear that nearly half-an-hour had passed. He groaned loudly, as he realised just how lost in the kiss they had become, before he felt Wade's hands close around his buttocks and pull him into a grind, so that their erections became pressed against one another. He jolted in pleasure, as Wade tried to coerce him onto the bed with firm – yet subtle – movements. Peter pulled away with a shake of his head.

"We can't go any further," said Peter. "Not yet."

"Aw, why not? I thought you were never going to trust me! I get that it's tough to be gay and all, because any kind of self-discovery is rough . . . hell, any time I look in a mirror I get all sad and antsy and angry! Still, your face is a boner-raiser not a boner-killer!"

"It's not about that, Wade," he continued. "Well, it's not _just_ about that. I – I still don't feel ready to come out at large . . . it's like I _love_ being with you, but it still feels _weird_. I need time to come to terms with everything, but . . . I know our relationship can't progress any further without trust. After our talk last week, I also realised it will _never_ go any further until we _know_ each other . . . we need to know each other as Peter and Wade.

"That's why I asked you to come _here_. I need you to finally get to know me, quirks and flaws and all, because how can you decide otherwise? I owe it to you. I also want you to trust me, because you hurt so bad and deserve someone to trust . . . I'll always have your back . . . I _want_ you to feel good about yourself! I want you to feel _worth_ something! So – so I'm going to introduce you to my aunt! She's a _really_ important part of my life. I need to come out to her at some point . . . _I don't know_, Wade! If she can accept me, maybe it'll help me to accept myself, but – at the very least – you can get to know me a bit better through her."

"So no hanky-panky under her roof until I've at least said hello? That's rough!"

"It'd be _respectful_ for one thing. It'd make me feel better, for another."

"I hate meeting the parents!"

Peter sighed and pulled away from Wade. He felt uncomfortable whilst hard underneath his clothing, but his jeans and underwear managed to keep his bulge from being prominent, whilst his top hid that area in any case. It took a moment for him to catch his breath, at which point he leaned around Wade to slide closed the window and brushed the piled snow onto the floor . . . it would melt, no doubt, but at least it would be easier to mop up water from the carpet than to repaint a peeling sill. He nodded to the bedroom door.

"Come on," said Peter. "It'll be over with before you know it."

Wade muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse. He pulled down his cap to the point it almost hid his eyes entirely, but – with Peter substantially shorter – he could see that what Wade hid was mostly annoyance and sadness. It was true that he had grown in recent years, enough that he was no longer the 'Pocket Petey' that Wade had recently dubbed his past self, but Wade still had an impressive advantage on him both in height and size. There was no way that he could make Wade do anything that he didn't want to do, least of all without his web-shooters, but clearly _something_ in Wade wanted to meet May. It may have been that he knew Peter was right: they needed to be on equal footing.

He held the door open for Wade, who walked through it with a few more muttered insults, but they seemed empty and insincere. It was enough to reassure Peter that the other man simply disliked the idea of being put on the spot, as opposed to getting to know Peter better as a person, and he hoped that it may have been a good sign for their future. There was a moment where they simply stood outside the door; Peter looked to Wade and saw the other man blush just slightly under his cap, which caused Peter to smile as he closed the door.

It was dim within the hall, but there was a light from the bottom of the stairs that illuminated the path downwards. Peter led the way. He could hear the sounds of his aunt humming a song to herself from within the kitchen, as well as the occasional sizzle of meat frying, and behind him there were the heavy and flat footsteps of Wade. The rest of the house felt far warmer than his room, especially so in the kitchen, and he felt relieved to be in the warmth.

May stood by the oven whilst she busied herself frying something on one of the rings, whilst she swayed a little to the song that she hummed to herself, and Peter smiled at how happy she seemed this evening. It was clear that she was wearing a dress that was one of his uncle's favourites, which meant that she must have been in something of a sentimental mood, and the blue pattern complemented her grey hair and pale complexion. It took a few minutes before she noticed Wade and Peter in the doorway. May took the pan off the ring and wiped her hands upon her apron, before she walked over to them and reached out for Wade's hand.

"Oh, you must be Wade!"

He wiped his hand on his t-shirt, perhaps to clean away any pus or residue from his sores and open cuts, before he extended it weakly and kept his head low. It seemed that he had lost all the confidence that he once held. Wade took her hand gently and shook it a few times, before he quickly forced it into his pocket and hunched his shoulders, so that suddenly he appeared half the height that he usually did. May smiled warmly and lifted her arm to signal them to head inside, where they sat themselves down at the dining table.

"I don't know if I must be," said Wade.

"Nonsense," May replied. "Peter said that you might be stopping by. It's not often that many of Peter's friends visit, at least not since he moved out after college, but it's always a pleasure to have company over. I was just frying some meat for supper later, would you like any?"

"Er, I'm okay, but thanks anyway. I must have had twenty hotdogs on the way over."

"Well, that certainly isn't healthy for a young man! How do you stay in shape?"

"Aunt May," interrupted Peter, "I actually asked Wade here for a reason."

"Oh? What reason is that?"

Peter drew in a deep breath. He placed both his hands flat upon the wood of the table, so that he could feel how cool it was to the touch and found something with which to ground himself, but he knew that Wade would be watching him intently for his next move. It was necessary to come out to his aunt, because it was the first step to admitting that he was gay and with that admission would eventually come acceptance, but to put it in _words_ would make it _real_. He wasn't sure that he was ready to deal with that.

"I – I need you to know something . . ."

"Peter, you're scaring me," she said. "You're white as a sheet! Look, unless it's important, you can lie down and tell me tomorrow. I'll get Wade to take your supper up and I'll make the couch for him to stay. He can't leave in this weather. I'll just get you some water and –"

"I'm – I'm gay!"

There was a sudden silence about the room. Peter heard a low hiss of breath from Wade, along with the scrape of his chair as he pushed it back, and he could see from the corner of his eyes that his partner had taken to leaning on the back two legs. Feet – covered in hole-ridden socks – pressed against the floor to keep his balance, whilst Peter wondered whether the cold tile irritated the bare patches of skin. The wind outside began to howl.

May remained silent, but when Peter dared to glance at her it appeared that she was deep in thought, enough so that she could look nowhere but his eyes. There was a tenderness to her expression, which reminded him of the days when he would scrape his knee and she would kiss it better, but the sad smile seemed to say that this was something no kind gesture would ever make go away. He felt his heart race. The fact was that he risked alienating his aunt to make certain Wade knew that he was committed to what little they had and to earn Wade's trust, but he feared that what he had with Wade wouldn't last . . . leaving him with no one.

"I'm gay," Peter said. "I'm gay and I'm seeing Wade."

"Is this why you broke up with MJ?" May shook her head sadly. "I do adore that girl. I thought that the miscarriage drove a wedge between you, but that – in time – you would eventually come together again. If you're gay, I suppose that means . . ."

"We aren't getting back together. I mean . . . if I were straight, she'd be the girl of my dreams. I was lucky to have her in my life. I just think . . . we weren't right for each other . . . I think the signs were there from the start, but we ignored them because we were clinging together out of – out of _desperation_. We both lost Gwen. We both lost so much . . . I just wanted _so much_ to be straight, whilst she just wanted so much to be _loved_. It may have been that we stayed that way forever, but something in me . . . it just _broke_ . . .

"I couldn't hide it any longer. The longer I tried to hide it . . . I just became angrier and angrier, until I couldn't even _recognise_ myself any longer. It was like all my energy was just spent trying to hide this secret and contain this – this – this _thing_! I just couldn't do it anymore. I can just about support myself on my wage at the _Bugle_, but I was thinking about getting a teaching position at the local high school, plus I have some friends that say I can crash if you didn't want me here . . . it felt like it was the time to come out. Mary Jane and I are still trying to be friends, but we can't be more . . . we can't keep living a lie."

"Did you break up with MJ _for_ Wade? Is he -?"

"No. _No_! God no, Aunt May!"

Peter threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. Wade dropped his chair to all fours, whilst he kept his hands in his pockets and kept his head so low that his cap covered his face entirely, and that was perhaps due to the need he felt to hide from May. It was hard to endure the hard look his aunt sent to his partner, but he knew that she likely felt concerned for his well-being and somewhat sceptical concerning Wade's involvement. May had only just met Wade, after all. He wondered whether he should have spoken to her alone first.

"I met Wade _months_ after MJ and I broke up," he said.

"I see," said May. "Your friend is quieter than you made him sound, which is a shame when I would very much like to hear his opinion on the matter. I just have a few questions for you, Peter . . . you _love_ children . . . if you're gay, you won't be able to have any of your own."

"I don't even want to think about that right now. Wade and I have been dating officially for maybe a few weeks at most, plus we've had a few problems this past week, so we're mostly just taking things slow and seeing where we go. I want Wade to trust me, because – despite everything between us romantically – we were friends first and foremost. We'll always be friends, too. It's why I needed to come out to you, so Wade knows I'm not ashamed of him. It's complicated, Aunt May. We've spent the last week talking about it a_ lot_, in fact it's _all_ we've been talking about, and so we're both learning from each other . . . growing together.

"I have to be frank. The life that I always thought I wanted just _isn't_ me, so I need to figure out from scratch just what it is that I _do_ want . . . children and marriage . . . aren't these all things I need to talk about with my _partner_? It's too soon for Wade and I to talk about those things, as we need to be sure we'll work out first. Wade already has a daughter though, plus I've always been . . . _different_ . . . maybe we'll find a way around it . . . maybe we'll adopt . . . maybe we won't even _want_ children."

"Peter, I'll always support you, no matter what," said May. "This is just a surprise to me, that's all. You know that lots of young men are confused, don't you? This may just be a phase. If it is a phase, you'll be throwing your life away with MJ over _nothing_. I don't want to see you hurt, sweetie. Look, just give me a few days to absorb this information, and then we can talk, okay? Does your . . ._ friend_ . . . want the couch or your room?"

"This – this isn't a phase. I've been battling with it since I was a teenager, Aunt May, so I know nothing is going to change, but . . . yeah, if you want to wait to talk about it, I understand. Er, Wade will stay in my room tonight, if that's okay with you?"

"I think I can make an exception just this once," she said.

"Thanks, Aunt May."

May stood up slowly and carefully. The tips of her fingers were pressed against the back of her chair, whilst she looked down at the table with a sadness that made Peter feel a pang of guilt. It was then that she glanced up to Peter; he could see the faint trace of a smile on her lips, which added to the lines upon her face, and he could see softness to her eyes that spoke of love. It was difficult to be gay. He knew that there was discrimination even in modern day, so it was possible that she was simply sad to imagine how much harder life would be for him.

"I'll go and get some spare blankets and pillows," she said.

"Well – er – Wade and I are happy to share the bed," replied Peter.

"It's a single bed, Peter. Be serious! You aren't teenagers anymore; it'd be ridiculous to expect two grown men to fit into so small a space. Wade can sleep on the floor, but you're both more than welcome to use the sofa cushions to make a space big enough for you both."

"Thanks, Aunt May. That really means a lot to us."

"Just remember we have thin walls, okay?"

Wade let out a loud laugh. It was broken and sounded rough, as the scarring had likely affected his vocal chords today, but there was just something so pure about it that it was almost a relief to hear. He enjoyed the sound of his partner simply _feeling_ happy, without any doubts or fears or residual pain, and it was a nice distraction from all that Wade likely felt. Wade wiped a tear from his eye with the sleeve of his jacket. He then shook his head and nodded to May in what seemed like respect and acknowledgement.

It was clear that his aunt was in no mood for jovialities, so she merely sighed and walked out of the kitchen with a pinch to the bridge of her nose. He knew that she would likely put the spare sheets in his room, just as he knew that Wade would ignore them to crash in his bed, and he also knew that she would remain in her room until they'd both retired for the night. There was no way that she would risk walking into them. He understood that she would need time to accept what she heard, because this redefined Peter and was a huge aspect of his personality, but at the same time he feared rejection. He feared that – as he heard her footsteps upstairs on the landing – that she could never see him the same way again.

They sat in silence for a long moment, before Wade spun his chair around and straddled it with his arms rested on its back. There was a terrifying realisation that they couldn't go back now; his aunt knew that he had a strong preference for men, as well as an interest in the mercenary beside him, and he could only hope that she could come to terms with this aspect of him, even if he couldn't quite accept it himself. The snow outside had grown so thick that the window seemed entirely white, whilst the wind howled painfully against the glass.

"I like your aunt a lot," Wade said.

"Yeah, she's pretty cool," answered Peter. "That went a lot easier than I thought, too, although I think she thinks you've lured a confused guy away from a loving relationship, like some sort of gay hunter preying on the bi-curious."

"Well, at least we know the truth, hey, Petey!"

"That's true, I'll admit."

He looked at Wade and smiled. The older man lifted his cap just slightly, so that the kitchen lights illuminated his face and gave him something akin to a glow, and Peter reached out to take a hold of his cheek. It was nice to hold Wade so intimately, even as he brushed his thumb against the older man's lips. He could almost fool himself into thinking that Wade was blushing, which was all the incentive that he needed to lean forward and place his lips against Wade's, before initiating a kiss that felt more romantic than any shared before then.

The kiss was far gentler than any that Peter usually instigated, whilst he brought his other hand up to wrap around Wade's neck and held him as close as possible, and the only sound seemed to be that of his heartbeat and the storm outside. There was an occasional sound of lips smacking or Wade breathing heavily, but it all seemed to merge into a sound that Peter didn't want to forget in a hurry. This was so different to what he shared with MJ. He enjoyed being the one to want to initiate the kisses, as well as kissing someone that felt so strong against him, where he didn't have to worry about his strength or worry about how fragile his partner felt. He parted sadly and realised that there was no going back: he wanted Wade.

"I think I may just fall for you yet," Peter murmured.

"I fell the moment I saw you," said Wade.

Peter laughed against Wade's lips. He pressed his forehead against his partner's and simply let them stay close for a long moment, as he felt Wade's warm breath against him. It surprised him just how sentimental the older man could be, when he was notorious as a mercenary without any moral code whatsoever, but there was a softer and more sentimental side to him that he appeared to keep hidden from everyone. Peter felt privileged to be given the honour to see this part of Wade. He could almost love him in time.

"I like you, baby boy," said Wade. "I like you."

"I like you, too," Peter laughed.


End file.
